•pp 


I 


WANDERINGS  OF  A  BEAUTY. 


oral* 


THE    KEAL  AND    THE    IDEAL. 


BT 

MBS.    EDWIN    JAMES. 


"  0  tu,  cui  feo  la  sorte 
Dono  infelice  di  belezza,  ond'hai 

Funesta  dote,  d'infiniti  guai." 

FILICAJA. 


Carleton,  Publisher,  413  Broadway. 

(LATE  BUDD  *  CJ.RLKTOX.) 
MDCCCLXIII. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1863, 
BY     GEO.      W.      CARLETON, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Southern  District  of  New 
York. 


J/ 


TO 

SIR  EDWARD  LYTTON  BULWER  LYTTON,  BABT., 

IN  TOKEN  Or 

PROFOUND    ADMIRATION    FOE    HIS    GENIUS, 

AID 

SYMPATHY   WITH    HIS   OPINIONS, 
THIS  WORK 

3  2    3njscriit&, 

BY 

THE    AUTHOR. 


2043830 


CONTENTS. 


L— Introductory    9 

II.— Courtship ',  18 

III.— The  Stepfather 28 

IV.— The  Bridal  36 

V.— A   Railway  Journey , 43 

VI.— Home  Scenes 60 

VII.— Presentation  to  the  Queen 59 

VIII.— Foreign  Travel  68 

IX.— Florence  76 

X.— Coquetry 85 

XL— First  Love 95 

XII. -Death 105 

XIIL— Naples  and   the  Neapolitans 112 

XIV.— I  Promessi  Sposi 120 

XV.— The  Grotto  of  Egeria 127 

XVI.— Rossini 136 

XVIL— The  Star  of  Destiny 145 

XVIIL— A  Serious  Chapter 153 


Vlll  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XIX.— Leaves  from  a  Lady's  Diary 161 

XX.— The  Sister  of  Mercy 170 

XXI.— Ella 177 

XXII.— The  Proposal 184 

XXIII.-Loved   in  Vain 193 

XXIV.— Correspondence 200 

XXV.— The  Baronet 207 

XXVI.— Three  Months  of  Married  Life 215 

XXVII. —Fifth   Avenue    Hotel 225 

XXVIII.— Shadows 280 

XXIX.— Foregleams 236 

XXX.— Conclusion . .  242 


EVELYN   TRAVERS; 

OK, 

WANDERINGS     OF    A    BEAUTY. 


CHAPTER  L 

INTRODUCTORY. 

ALTHOUGH  linked  by  no  ties  of  kindred  to  the 
fair  subject  of  this  biographical  sketch,  the  author 
may  at  least  claim  to  have  loved  her  with  a  love 
passing  that  of  a  sister — to  have  fully  appreciated 
her  rare  endowments  of  mind  and  person,  and, 
alas!  to  have  had  too  frequent  occasion  to  chide 
her  girlish  follies,  and,  in  after  life,  to  weep  over 
her  more  womanly  failings.  Beauty  has  ever,  and 
justly,  been  styled  "  a  fatal  gift."  From  the  classic 
Helen  to  the  lovely  and  unhappy  Mary  Stuart,  and 
in  more  modern  times  the  matchless  and  queenly 
Antoinette  of  France  all  these,  and  others  of  lesser 


10  INTRODUCTORY. 

note,  have  furnished  us  with  abundant  examples  of 
the  cruel  destiny  of  those  who  possess  this  much 
coveted  distinction.  For  my  part,  I  can  only  be 
too  thankful  for  having  been  endowed  by  nature 
with  a  face  which  the  most  indulgent  of  my  friends 
could  but  term  pleasing,  and  which  a  casual  ac- 
quaintance might  call  plain.  Enemies  I  never 
had  ;  I  was  not  sufficiently  handsome. 

When  I  first  met  Evelyn  Travers  we  were  both 
inmates  of  a  Parisian  "  Pension  de  demoiselles." 
Although  four  years  my  junior,  her  precocious 
intellect  and  superior  talents  led  her  to  prefer  the 
society  of  the  elder  girls  to  that  of  those  of  her 
own  age.  Our  mutual  passion  for  music  threw  us 
constantly  together,  and  another  circumstance  con- 
tributed still  further  to  cement  a  friendship  which 
has  never  since  diminished.  We  were  both  alone 
in  the  world.  My  own  beloved  parents  I  had  lost. 
My  father  fell  in  India,  in  the  field,  and  my  broken- 
hearted mother  only  survived  her  voyage  home- 
ward to  expire  in  the  arms  of  her  only  child.  It 
was  at  that  time  of  bitter  trial,  that  the  loving  de- 
votion of  Evelyn  to  her  friend  earned  for  her  a  debt 
of  gratitude  which  can  never  be  repaid.  For  days 
and  nights  did  my  sweet  young  nurse  watch  by  my 
bed-side.  I  would  take  neither  medicine  nor  suste- 


INTRODUCTORY.  11 

nance,  except  from  her  hands.  It  is  enough  to  say 
that  I  recovered,  and  have  since  centered  all  the 
affection  of  my  heart  on  the  gentle  and  tender  being 
to  whom  I  owe  my  life.  She,  poor  child,  was 
equally  alone  with  myself.  A  father's  love  she  had 
never  known,  for  Mr.  Travers  died  when  his  only 
child  was  an  infant ;  and  his*young  widow,  in  a  too 
hasty  second  union  forgot  her  duty  towards  her 
first-born,  and  placed  her  exclusive  affection  on 
the  young  progeny  with  which  she  was  annually 
blessing  her  second  husband.  The  mother  of  Eve- 
lyn, being  a  woman  of  a  very  inferior  order  of 
mind  to  her  daughter,  with  the  best  intentions  in 
the  world  could  never  have  duly  appreciated  her. 
One  very  sore  subject  with  the  Dale  family  was  the 
knowledge  that  Evelyn  must  eventually  inherit  the 
whole  of  her  mother's  jointure,  in  addition  to  her 
own  fortune,  while  the  sole  heritage  of  her  half- 
brothers  and  sisters  would  be  the  paternal  debts, 
which  were  considerable.  All  these  circumstances 
combined  to  induce  the  unloved  girl  to  centre  her 
heart  anywhere  rather  than  on  her  nearest  kindred  ; 
she  felt  that  even  school  was  more  to  her  like  home 
than  the  house  of  her  stepfather,  and  dreaded 
the  hour  when  she  would  be  forced  to  leave  the 
shelter  of  its  walls  for  so  uncongenial  a  spot  as 
"Warenne  Yicarage.  How  often  in  the  quiet  noon, 


12  INTRODUCTORY. 

or  in  the  fragrant  August  evenings  of  our  brief 
autumn  vacation,  have  we  together  paced  the 
gravelled  path  of  the  school  garden,  as  I  with 
friendly  counsels  enforced  by  my  four  years'  seni- 
ority, endeavored  to  reconcile  the  weeping  child  to 
her  lot,  to  impress  upon  her  mind  the  duty  of  seek- 
ing the  flowers  that  grow  by  the  pathway  of  life 
rather  than  the  thorns,  with  which  they  are  ever  in- 
termingled. I  must  not,  however,  omit  to  describe 
my  heroine,  whom  I  confess  to  have  regarded  with 
eyes  somewhat  partial — for  to  rne  she  was  the  type 
of  all  that  is  most  lovely  in  woman.  Imagine, 
then,  features  of  such  faultless  regularity  that  except 
in  a  statue,  rarely,  if  ever,  have  I  looked  upon  their 
like — a  complexion  slightly  tinged  with  brown,  but 
so  transparent  that  the  color  deepened  at  every 
movement,  and  varied  with  each  passing  word. 
Pencilled  brows,  overarching  long  almond-shaped 
eyes,  whose  predominant  expression  in  repose  was 
one  of  pensive  thoughtfulnees,  but  which  in  mo- 
ments of  mirth,  actually  sparkled  and  danced  with 
fun,  as  the  dimples  of  laughter  broke  over  her 
cheek,  and  the  lips  parted  to  show  the  pearls  within. 
Imagine,  too,  hair  of  the  softest  texture,  and  of  that 
peculiar  shade  of  brown  which  looks  bright  in  the 
sunbeam,  but  dark  in  the  shade,  "and  a  fairy  figure 
which  if  as  yet  somewhat  too  thin,  gave  full  prom- 


nn-BODUCTOEY.  13 

ise  in  after  life,  of  ripening  into  the  rounded  perfec- 
tion of  maturity.  Such  is  the  portrait  of  Evelyn 
Travers,  when  in  her  sixteenth  year  she  left  school, 
and,  accompanied  by  her  faithful  mentor,  (as  she 
would  playfully  term  me)  returned  to  the  residence 
of  her  mother. 

Warenne  Yicarage  was  a  fine  old  house,  full  of 
queer  old  gables,  built  in  what  is  termed  the  Eliza- 
bethian  style.  It  stood  far  back  in  its  own  grounds, 
which  were  parcelled  out  into  flower  garden,  orch- 
ard, and  vegetable  garden — also  there  was  a  charm- 
ing walk  called  "  the  glebe,"  a  series  of  meadows 
sloping  upward,  bounded  by  a  pleasant  green  path 
and  a  hedge  fragrant  with  the  sweetbrier  -  rose  and 
eglantine.  In  this  lover's  walk,  did  we  two  friends 
pass  many  a  long  hour,  weaving  sweet  fancies,  as 
hope,  that  lovely  but  deceitful  syren,  lifted  for  us, 
with  fairy  wand,  the  curtain  of  futurity.  Happy  is 
it  for  us,  that  in  youth,  the  far-off  horizon  ever 
appears  to  be  bathed  in  sunshine  !  In  the  dawn  of 
life  we  are  like  a  rose,  our  illusions  the  leaves ; 
these  drop,  one  by  one,  as  we  bear  the  burden  and 
heat  of  the  day — and  in  the  evening  who  would 
recognize  that  flower  which  looked  so  lovely,  and 
yielded  so  sweet  a  perfume,  when  sprinkled  with 
the  dew  of  earliest  morning?  In  truth,  a  little 
poesy  was  needed,  to  enable  us  to  support  our  sur- 


14:  INTRODTJCTOET. 

roundings  with  becoming  philosophy.  The  Rev. 
Mr.  Dale,  the  Yicar,  had  in  his  younger  days  been 
a  military  man,  and  even  in  the  army  had  the  repu- 
tation of  being  fast.  Indeed,  so  fast  had  he  been, 
that  it  was  as  a  ruined  spendthrift  that  he  addressed 
the  handsome,  but  imprudent  young  widow,  who 
later  became  his  wife.  We  fear  that  in  the  eyes  of 
the  admiring  lover  the  lady's  jointure  was  by  no 
means  the  least  of  her  attractions.  "  Veni,  Vidi, 
Vici"  was  his  watchword,  and  in  less  than  six 
weeks  from  the  commencement  of  their  acquaint- 
ance the  happy  pair  entered  into  the  bliss  of  the 
honey-moon.  Matrimony  somewhat  sobers  a  man. 
The  reckless  spendthrift  remembering  the  old  adage, 
"  The  greater  the  sinner  the  greater  the  saint,"  com- 
menced studying  divinity,  with  a  view  to  entering 
the  church  ;  for,  as  his  newly-made  wife  very  justly 
observed  to  her  lord,  "A  nice  parsonage  would 
save  house-rent."  In  less  than  two  years,  there- 
fore, Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dale  were  installed  in  a  small 
house  attached  to  a  curacy. 

As  time  passed  onward  the  reverend  gentleman 
began  to  evince  decided  Low  Church  tendencies ;  the 
reason  of  this  became  shortly  apparent  on  his  receiv- 
ing from  an  evangelical  elderly  maiden  lady  in  the 
parish,  the  presentation  to  a  very  fat  living,  which 
was  intended  as  a  provision  for  her  Puseyite  nephew, 


INTRODUCTORY.  15 

who  was  by  reason  of  his  disappointment  driven  in- 
to the  arms  of  the  Church  of  Rome.  From  this 
moment  the  Yicar  became  quite  a  saint — in  his  own 
estimation  at  least — and  to  prove  his  "  title  to  the 
skies"  he  condemned  every  one  who  did  not  share 
his  theological  opinions  to  the  infernal  regions. — 
Here  let  me  make  one  observation,  which  is  that  al- 
though I  have  met  many  of  all  creeds,  who  devout- 
ly believe  in  eternal  punishment— -for  their  neigh- 
J)ors — and  who  are  quite  annoyed  if  any  presume  to 
throw  a  doubt  on  this  dogma  of  their  several  church- 
es, I  have  never  as  yet  met  one  who  expected  him- 
self to  be  eternally  lost,  or  who  did  not  profess  the 
hope  of  salvation  he  denied  to  others.  Accordingly 
the  Yicar  asserted  about  seven  times  a  day  on  an  av- 
erage, that  he  was  sure  of  Heaven  whatever  he  had 
done,  or  might  yet  do,  because  Christ  died  for  him. 
This  pernicious  doctrine  is,  sad  to  say,  frequently 
held  by  what  in  England  is  termed  the  Low  Church 
or  evangelical  party,  in  contradistinction  to  the  High 
Church  and  Puseyites,  who  are  considered,  especial- 
ly the  latter,  to  favor  too  much  the  Romish  doctrine 
of  the  necessity  of  good  works.  All  our  neighbors, 
no  matter  how  amiable  or  charitable,  were  pitiless- 
ly black-balled  by  Mr.  Dale  as  children  of  the  Evil 
One.  Alas,  that  a  minister  of  our  Divine  Master 
should  so  far  forget  that  great  precept,  "  Judge  not 


16  INTRODUCTORY. 

that  ye  be  not  judged."  Alas !  that  he  should  thus  ig- 
nore the  apostolic  teachings  and  forget  that "  charity 
thinketh no  evil"  Our  society  was  naturally  much 
restricted ;  two  or  three  half-starved  curates  and  a 
few  long-visaged  ladies  of  "  undoubted  piety  "  were 
alone  permitted  occasionally  to  taste  of  the  hospital- 
ity of  the  Yicar.  Hence  too  we  were  condemned  to 
be  present  at  long  family  prayers,  with  scripture  ex- 
poundings, and  nasal  hymn-singing  twice  a  day.  A 
lecture  in  church,  a  couple  of  prayer-meetings,  and 
another  to  consider  prophecy,  we  were  also  expected 
to  attend  every  week  in  the  cottage  of  some  elect 
brother  or  sister. 

Evelyn,  ever  impetuous,  almost  took  a  disgust  to 
Religion  held  up  to  her  example  in  so  distasteful  a 
form.  She  was  young  and  ardent,  and  her  judg- 
ment was  that  of  a  child.  "  Oh,  Mary  !"  she  would 
exclaim,  "  CAN  Heaven  be  made  up  of  such  people? 
— if  so,  surely,  surely  it  will  not  be  a  very  pleasant 
place."  In  after  years  my  readers  will  perceive 
that  the  sentiments  of  my  by  no  means  faultless  he- 
roine were  greatly  modified  on  many  subjects. 

Thus  passed  the  summer  and  autumn.  I  had  ar- 
ranged (by  the  payment  of  a  small  annual  sum)  to 
make  my  friend's  home  my  own.  I  confess  to  en- 
tertaining the  hope,  that  Evelyn,  surrounded  by 
guch  uncongenial  spirits,  would  remain  unmarried 


INTRODUCTORY. 


17 


at  least  four  or  five  years,  when,  in  my  girlish 
ideas,  I  considered  we  should,  or  certainly  I  should, 
be  very  old,  and  sufficiently  steady,  having  joined 
our  incomes,  to  fly  away  together  to  sunny  Italy. 
It  was,  however,  otherwise  ordained. 


CHAPTER   II. 

COURTSHIP. 

ONE  morning  at  breakfast,  on  opening  the  letter- 
bag,  Mrs.  Dale  announced  to  her  husband  that  her 
nephew,  Captain  Travers,  of  the  ***  Lancers,  had 
just  returned  from  India,  and  proposed  paying  them 
a  visit  at  Christmas.  Had  the  Vicar  been  a  devout 
Catholic,  he  would  doubtless  have  crossed  himself, 
as  it  was  he  gave  a  kind  of  holy  groan,  and  rolled 
up  his  forehead,  as  he  was  wont  to  do  when  any 
very  obstinate  sinner  was  mentioned.  The  lady, 
however,  pressed  her  point,  and  at  length  a  reluct- 
ant consent  was  given,  together  with  the  expression 
of  a  despairing  hope  that  the  visit  of  this  probable 
child  of  Satan  might  eventually  "  be  blessed  "  to  the 
saving  of  his  soul.  Mrs.  Dale,  whose  piety  was  by 
no  means  so  lively  as  that  of  her  husband,  was  only 
too  happy  to  have  an  occasion  for  arraying  herself 
in  some  of  the  elegant  new  dresses  she  had  surrep- 
titiously procured  at  the  nearest  town.  She  there- 


COURTSHIP.  19 

fore  lost  no  time  in  answering  the  gallant  captain  by 
letter  that  they  would  be  delighted  to  welcome  him 
to  Warenne  Yicarage.  I  perceived  that  Evelyn  was 
much  preoccupied  by  her  cousin's  projected  visit; 
our  life  was  so  monotonous  that  any  change  was  wel- 
come, and  a  young  and  dashing  officer  of  cavalry 
could  not  fail  to  be  an  acquisition  to  our  very  limit- 
ed and  somewhat  dull  clerical  circle.  Frequently  I 
interrupted  her  day  dreams,  begging  her  not  to 
imagine  she  was  about  to  meet  her  "  beau  ideal " — 
the  hero  of  her  young  imaginings — or  she  would 
surely  be  disappointed.  With  a  bright  blush  she 
would  reply,  "  You  know,  dear  Mary,  how  high  is 
my  standard  of  perfection,  and  that  I  hope  never  to 
marry  unless  I  meet  one  I  can  not  only  love,  but 
respect  and  revere  above  all  created  beings.  Yet," 
she  added  with  a  sigh,  "  how  in  this  isolated  spot 
may  I  ever  hope  to  meet  with  such  a  man?  unless 
indeed,"  smiling  archly,  "  my  gallant  cousin  prove 
to  be  my  own  true  knight,"  and  springing  lightly 
across  the  room  to  her  harp,  she  would  commence 
singing,  in  a  rich  contralto  voice,  Mrs.  Norton's  ex- 
quisite ballad,  "  Love  not,  ye  hapless  sons  of  clay," 
or  perhaps  one  of  Moores'  delicious  national  airs. — 
She  was  one  of  the  few  gifted  individuals  who  have 
"tears  in  the  voice,"  so  deep  was  the  pathos,  so 
intense  the  feeling,  she  threw  into  both  words  and 


20  COURTSHIP. 

melody ;  like  Orpheus,  she  might  have  charmed  even 
the  rocks.  Thus  passed  the  days  till  Christmas  time 
drew  nigh,  with  its  promise  of  turkeys,  roast  beef, 
mince  pies  and  plum  puddings.  Mrs.  Dale  "  on 
household  thoughts  intent,"  spent  many  an  hour  in 
superintending  the  preparation  of  mince  meat,  sau- 
sages, and  other  delicacies,  for  country  folks  make 
all  these  luxuries  at  home.  Of  course  your  humble 
servant  was  pressed  into  the  service,  but  our  hero- 
ine, who  detested  the  details  of  the  "  menage,"  (for 
which  she  was  always  and  with  reason  scolded  by 
her  mother),  continued  to  practice  her  harp  and  her 
singing,  and  to  write  her  foolish,  romantic  thoughts 
in  her  journal,  utterly  heedless  of  all  sublunary  mat- 
ters, and  alike  inattentive  to  the  maternal  reproofs 
and  to  the  more  gentle  remonstrances  of  her  Men- 
tor. At  length  the  long-expected  and  anxiously  de- 
sired day  dawned  bleak  and  cheerless  in  appearance, 
but  fraught  with  sunshine  to  the  now  cheerful  party 
at  the  Vicarage.  Our  usual  two  o'clock  dinner  was 
postponed  to  the  hour  of  half-past  five  to  suit  tho 
more  aristocratic  habits  of  the  young  officer.  Even 
Mr.  Dale  fetched  from  the  cellar  a  bottle  of  his  old- 
est port,  and  the  whole  house  wore  an  air  of  unacus- 
torned  festivity.  Precisely  at  half-past  four,  the 
roll  of  a  carriage  and  a  loud  ring  at  the  door-bell, 
announced  the  much  desired  arrival.  The  usual 


COURTSHIP.  21 

kindly  greetings  over,  the  visitor  was  ushered  to  the 
guest-chamber.  I  had  just  completed  my  toilet, 
and  wishing  to  ascertain  if  Evelyn  had  done  the 
same,  entered  her  apartment.  I  was  quite  struck 
by  her  extreme  beauty.  She  was  robed  in  an  ex- 
quisitely-fitting dinner  costume  of  blue  silk,  which 
suited  well  with  her  delicate  features  and  bright 
but  soft  complexion.  A  scarf  of  white  tulle  was 
gracefully  flung  around  her  shoulders,  I  may  add, 
in  the  words  of  Byron, 

"  Her  gloesy  hair  was  braided  o'er  a  brow 
Bright  with  intelligence—" 

And  one  camelia  from  the  green-house,  of  the  soft- 
est pink,  reposed  on  her  rich  and  wavy  tresses.  I  do 
not  think  that  Evelyn  was  then  aware  how  very 
lovely  she  was,  and  this  unconsciousness  of  effect 
greatly  enhanced  her  charms.  "How  nice  you 
look,  dear  Mary,"  were  her  words,  as  she  placed  her 
arm  within  mine  and  we  descended  to  the  drawing- 
room.  Mrs.  Dale  was  already  there,  looking  very 
handsome  in  a  dress  of  black  satin,  her  dark  hair  in 
short  curls  under  a  pretty  cap  of  blond  and  flowers. 
She  was  still  a  remarkably  fine  woman,  and  had 
she  been  less  stout,  would  by  no  means  have  looked 
her  age.  A  few  moments  and  our  newly  arrived 
guest  entered,  ushered  in  by  the  Vicar.  Captain 


22  COURTSHIP. 

Edward  Travers  was  a  young  man  of  gentleman- 
like manners  and  prepossessing  appearance.  He 
was  dressed  in  the  height  of  fashion,  which  in 
England  means  a  well-cut  coat,  white  waist- 
coat, an  irreproachable  neck-tie,  and  well-fitting 
polished  boots.  As  the  captain  shook  hands  with 
us,  his  smile  displayed  a  fine  set  of  teeth — his  eyes 
likewise  were  good,  and  altogether,  my  first  im- 
pressions respecting  him  were  agreeable.  An  evan- 
gelical curate  completed  the  party,  and  to  Eve- 
lyn's horror  took  her  in  to  dinner — the  principal 
guest,  of  course,  being  seated  at  the  right  hand 
of  the  lady  of  the  house.  Dinner  passed  off;  and 
shortly  after  the  removal  of  the  cloth  the  ladies 
retired,  and  the  gentlemen  remained  to  finish  their 
wine — a  remnant  to  my  mind  of  the  barbarous 
ages. 

In  the  evening,  Evelyn  and  myself  played  duetts 
on  the  harp  and  piano.  She  also  sang  to  my  ac- 
companiment various  pretty  ballads,  both  English 
and  German.  Meanwhile  Captain  Travers  talked 
much — too  much,  I  thought,  during  the  music — to 
Mrs.  Dale  ;  and  at  ten  precisely  the  entrance  of 
the  servants  for  family  prayers  put  an  end  for 
that  day  to  our  occupations. 

On  retiring,  Evelyn  sought  my  room.  "Well, 
Mary,"  said  she,  "  what  think  you  of  my  cousin  ?" 


OOTJKT8HIP.  23 

"He  appears  pleasant  and  good  natured,"  said  I. 
"And  you?" 

"  Oh !  all  I  know  is,  that  you  need  not  imagine  I 
have  found  my  ideal  knight." 

"  He  is,  however,  good  looking  ?" 

"  Yes— has  fine  eyes." 

"Yes — and  above  all,"  I  added,  laughing,  "a 
most  becoming  moustache." 

"  Oh  !  decidedly — I  confess  to  a  weakness  for 
moustache  ;  one  may  then  be  quite  sure  the  man  is 
no  curate — eh!  Mary? — But  he  talks  too  much, 
and  evidently  cares  not  for  music." 
-  Like  a  couple  of  school-girls,  we  continued  to 
chatter  till  near  midnight,  when,  declaring  I  was 
half  asleep,  I  playfully  ejected  the  young  lady  by 
main  force  from  my  room,  and  was  soon  in  the  land 
of  dreams. 

A  week  passed,  and  our  guest  was  to  leave  on 
the  morrow.  I  had  ceased  to  think  about  him,  ex- 
cept as  one  of  those  common-place  individuals,  of 
whom  the  best  description  is,  that  "  there  is  nothing 
in  him/'  He  appeared  much  pleased  with  the 
society  of  his  aunt,  seeming  greatly  to  prefer  it 
to  that  of  his  cousin.  I  was  therefore  surprised, 
the  last  evening,  to  see  him  bending  over  Evelyn's 
harp,  and  addressing  her  for  some  time  in  a  low 
voice.  I  soon  concluded  he  was  explaining  to  her 


24  COURTSHIP. 

some  of  the  delights  of  the  hunting-field,  or,  per- 
haps, expatiating  on  the  scarcity  of  game  this  sea- 
sm,  and  paid  no  further  attention  to  them. 
Judge,  then,  how  utterly  amazed  I  was,  to  learn 
from  Evelyn,  that  her  cousin  had  proposed,  and 
that  she  had  not  positively  rejected  him. 

"  Good  heavens  I"  I  exclaimed,  "  you  have  not 
been  half  so  foolish !  No — I  will  not  believe  it ; 
there  must  be  some  mistake.  Eepeat  me  the  con- 
versation, dear  Evelyn." 

"  Perhaps,  Mary,  you  will  smile  at  the  originality 
of  the  affair.  After  many  words  about  nothing,  and 
*  a  propos'  to  less,  he.  suddenly  said,  '  I  think  I 
shall  sell  out,  and  go  abroad.  Will  you  consent  to 
come  with  me,  and  make  me  happy  V  Imagine  my 
surprise. — What  could  I  say,  except  that  I  did  not 
know  him  sufficiently  well,  and  that  I  would  speak 
to  my  mother — always  having  understood  that  is 
the  manner  in  which  young  ladies  reply  to  pro- 
posals, unless  they  are  really  in  love — which;  of 
course,  Mary,  I  am  not.  Now  you  know  all  that 
has  passed.  I  shall,  after  consulting  mama,  make 
my  definite  decision ;  to-morrow,  probably,  will 
decide  my  fate." 

She  left  me,  and  I  passed  a  sleepless  night ;  for  I 
perceived  no  promise  of  happiness  for  her,  in  so 
hasty  an  engagement.  I  sincerely  trusted  her  mo- 


COURTSHIP.  25 

ther  would  dissuade  her  from  committing  BO  sad  a 
folly,  and  anxiously  awaited  the  events  of  the  com- 
ing day. 

After  breakfast,  I  saw  poor  Evelyn  led  into  the 
drawing-room,  like  a  lamb  to  the  slaughter,  by  her 
mother,  and  left  alone  with  the  young  man.  Sus- 
pense was  becoming  unbearable,  when,  after  about 
an  hour  had  elapsed,  Evelyn  flew  to  my  room,  and 
flung  herself  into  my  arms : 

"  Oh,  dearest,"  she  said,  sobbing,  "  my  only  true 
friend,  let  me  confide  in  you.  Last  night  I  went, 
as  you  know,  to  mama's  room,  and  told  her  all, 
adding  that  I  did  not  love  him,  and  felt  no  in- 
clination to  marry.  She  chid  me,  saying  I  ought 
to  consider  myself  fortunate — that  she  could  not 
imagine  why  I  did  not  love  so  charming  a  young 
fellow,  and  adding,  that  'love  before  marriage 
was  quite  unnecessary,  as  every  well  brought  up 
girl  was  sure  to  love  her  husband  when  once  she 
had  become  a  wife.'  My  mother  concluded  by  say- 
ing that  if  I  were  so  silly  as  not  to  accept  my  cousin, 
she  would  take  no  further  trouble  to  introduce  me 
into  society,  and  that  I  must  make  up  my  mind  to 
live  here  all  my  life.  So  you  see,  Mary,  I  was  in  a 
measure  forced  to  say,  that  if  on  further  acquaint- 
ance, I  could  like  him,  I  would  be  his  wife." 

"  My  poor  darling,"  said  I,  smoothing  her  soft 


26  COURTSHIP. 

hair,  "  better  bear  your  present  troubles  than  blind- 
ly rush  into,  perhaps,  far  greater  sorrow." 

"  Mary,"  replied  Evelyn,  "  do  not  think  me  child- 
ish, but  I  cannot  endure  this  methodistical  house. 
Besides,  I  long  to  see  the  world — to  go  to  balls, 
the  opera,  theatres.  Better  to  be  really  unhappy 
than  die  of  ennui.  The  stormiest  sea  is  surely  su- 
perior to  a  stagnant  pool.  Besides,  he  is  really 
fond  of  me.  You  should  have  seen  how  his  hand 
trembled." 

I  ventured  to  interrupt  her  here,  and  to  suggest 
that  the  hand  occasionally  shook  at  breakfast,  also, 
when  there  was  no  apparent  cause. 

"  For  shame,  Mary,"  she  said,  (though  I  do  not 
think  she  then  understood  my  fears,)  "  indeed  I  feel 
certain  he  adores  me.  I  shall  be  petted,  and  spoiled  ; 
I  will  do  my  duty,  and  try  to  make  him  happy. 
Oh  1  I  will  be  a  model  wife." 

Tears  had  already  given  place  to  smiles  and  dim- 
ples, on  the  face  of  my  sweet  friend,  and  the  hope 
of  a  happier  future  had  brought  light  to  her  eyes, 
and  renewed  bloom  to  her  cheek.  I  could  not  find 
it  in  my  heart  to  dash  her  joy,  so  I  twined  my  arms 
around  her,  reiterating  my  fervent  wishes  for  her 
happiness,  and  adding,  that  whether  for  weal  or  woe, 
she  would  ever  find  a  firm  friend,  and  a  loving  sister, 
in  Mary  Mildmay. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE    STEPFATHER. 

IN  order  that  our  readers  may  comprehend  the 
motives  by  which  some  of  the  actors  in  this  our 
drama  of  real  life  were  actuated,  we  must  cast  a 
retrospective  glance  at  the  past  and  view  our  heroine 
in  her  infancy,  as  the  only  and  beloved  child  of  a 
doting  father.  Mr.  Travers  married  late  in  life  a 
pretty,  penniless  girl,  and  found  himself  in  failing 
health  with  a  young  wife  and  infant  daughter  to 
provide  for.  Had  this  child  been  a  son,  he  would 
have  been  heir  to  landed  estates  entailed  in  the  male 
line,  but  to  a  girl  Mr.  Travers  could  only  leave  a 
sum  of  money  he  possessed  in  the  funds,  and  of  this, 
he  settled  the  half  on  his  widow  for  life  with  rever- 
sion to  Evelyn  at  her  mother's  death ;  the  re- 
mainder was  left  as  a  marriage  portion  to  the  for- 
mer, or,  if  unmarried,  she  was  to  come  into  the  full 
control  of  her  property  on  attaining  the  aire  of  eight- 
een, Mrs.  Travers  acting  as  sole  guardian  of  her 


28  THE    STEPFATHER. 

daughter.  A  codicil  to  the  will,  with  pardonable 
family  pride,  expressed  the  wish  that  Evelyn  might 
marry  the  son  of  the  testator's  half  brother,  Edward, 
who  must  eventually  become  the  possessor  of  the 
whole  entailed  family  property.  Thus  having,  as 
he  thought,  secured  the  welfare  and  happiness  of 
his  unconscious  babe,  the  noble  father  and  loyal  hus- 
band was  called  to  a  better  and  a  happier  world, 
where  we  trust  he  may  hereafter  hold  sweet  com- 
munion with  his  child  when  the  trials  and  trou- 
bles of  her  mortal  life  shall  be  at  an  end. 

Let  us  now  return  to  our  present  hero  and  the  lady 
of  his  dreams.  In  consequence  of  the  state  of  af- 
fairs Captain  Edward  Travers  prolonged  his  stay  at 
the  Yicarage  another  ten  days,  during  which  time 
the  youthful  pair  took  daily  walks  about  the  grounds 
we  have  already  described.  In  the  evening  they 
sat  indefatigably  together,  and  to  judge  by  the  ab- 
sence of  conversation  when  in  the  house,  I  should 
say  they  must  have  exhausted  all  topics  of  interest 
during  their  morning  strolls,  for  they  literally  ap- 
peared to  have  nothing  to  say  to  each  other.  I  con- 
fess to  quite  a  feeling  of  relief,  as  I  watched  the 
phaeton  drive  through  the  large  front  gates  of  the 
Vicarage,  en  route  for  the  railway  station,  bearing 
the  young  officer  away.  I  hoped  that  absence  would 
not  in  this  case,  "  make  the  heart  grow  fonder,"  but 


THE   STEPFATHEE.  29 

that  Evelyn  would  permit  her  better  judgment 
to  influence  her,  and  perceive  she  was  on  the 
eve  of  committing  an  irretrievable  folly.  I 
was  confirmed  in  this  opinion,  on  observing  the 
blank  look  of  surprise,  even  mortification,  on 
her  mobile  countenance,  as  she  perused  her  first 
love  letter,  an  event  usually  so  delightful  to  a  young 
girl,  and  then,  without  a  word,  placed  the  interest- 
ing missive  in  the  hands  of  her  mother.  That  lady, 
it  appeared,  was-  decidedly  a  friend  to  the  absent. 
She  glanced  over  the  letter,  exclaiming,  as  she  read 
it  :— 

"  Dear  fellow ;  how  he  loves  you,  Evelyn.  See 
how  his  hand  trembled  from  excitement ;  the  writ- 
ing is  almost  illegible." 

And  so,  in  very  truth,  was  it,  and  horribly  ill- 
spelled,  if  that  too,  be  a  symptom  of  the  tender  pas- 
sion. The  letter,  however,  commenced,  "  My  dar- 
ling Evelyn,"  and  ended,  "  Yours  for  life." 

Now,  let  me  ask  you  young  ladies  of  sweet  six- 
teen, would  not  your  pretty  little  heads  have  been 
slightly  turned,  if  you  had  for  the  first  time  in  your 
lives,  been  thus  addressed  by  a  good-looking,  rich 
young  officer,  with  real  moustaches  ?  And  this  too, 
even  though  the  orthography  of  the  epistle  might 
have  been  somewhat  defective.  My  heroine,  though 
full  of  intelligence,  somewhat  lacked  that  invaluable 


30  THE   STEPFATHER. 

quality — plain,  common  sense.  Nor  was  she  in  any 
way  above  the  faults  and  weaknesses  of  her  age  and 
sex.  Let  not  my  readers  then  be  surprised  if  she 
permitted  her  own  charity,  and  the  writer's  evident 
attachment,  to  "  cover  a  multitude  of  (grammatical) 
sins."  One  thing  was  self-evident  from  the  tone 
of  the  gallant  captain's  correspondence,  namely  : 
that  he  considered  Evelyn  as  his  fiancee,  and  wrote 
as  an  accepted  suitor. 

The  letter  was  duly  answered,  and  shortly  after 
another  made  its  appearance,  which,  to  judge  by  its 
defective  style,  argued  no  diminution  of  the  tender 
passion,  for  the  lover's  head  and  hand  evidently  par- 
took of  the  agitated  state  of  his  heart,  always  inter- 
preting these  signs  as  favorably  as  did  our  lovely 
heroine  and  her  amiable  mother.  On  handing  the 
second  of  these  interesting  documents  to  his  step- 
daughter, the  Rev.  Mr.  Dale  expressed  the  wish  for 
a  few  moments'  conversation  with  her  in  his  study. 
So,  immediately,  after  breakfast  we  bent  our  steps 
thither,  for  Evelyn,  who  dreaded  above  all  things  a 
tete-d-tete  with  the  Vicar,  had  insisted  on  my  ac- 
companying her. 

I  was  with  some  difficulty  admitted  into  the  sanc- 
tum. We  seated  ourselves  and  prepared  for  a  ser- 
mon. Meanwhile  I  was  secretly  rejoicing  in  the 
idea  that  the  captain's  attentions  would  surely  be 


THE   STEPFATHEB.  31 

put  an  end  to,  on  the  plea  of  his  being  one  of  the 
"  children  of  this  world." 

"  My  dear  Evelyn,"  solemnly  began  the  reverend 
gentleman,  "I  wish  to  know  your  exact  position  as 
regards  your  cousin." 

"I  thought,  sir,  mama  had  informed  you." 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  your  mother  mentioned  to  me 
very  properly,  that  Travers  had  asked  your  hand, 
but  she  also  added  that  no  definite  reply  had  been 
given  to  the  young  man.  Has  anything  since  oc- 
curred to  alter  your  sentiments?" 

"  No  sir ;  they  are  the  same  as  before,  or,  rather, 
perhaps  I  ought  to  say" — turning  very  red  and  trem- 
bling visibly—"  I— I " 

"  Well,  child,"  said  the  Yicar,  smiling,  "you  like 
him  rather  better,  eh  2" 

"  Oh,  no  sir,"  said  poor  Evelyn,  almost  in  tears. 
"  Since  I  have  read  his  letters  I  fear — indeed — I — " 

"  Evelyn,"  said  Mr.  Dale,  severely,  "  I  am  sur- 
prised at  your  conduct ;  }TCU  have  gone  farther  than 
a  modest  girl  ought,  with  any  man  who  is  not  to  be 
her  husband.  Your  reputation — if  you  do  not  now 
marry — is  lost.  You  will  acquire  the  name  of  flirt 
and  jilt,  and  no  honorable  man  will  ever  again  look 
at  you." 

"  But,  sir,  how  could  I  know  whether  I  should 
like  him  ?" 


32  THE   STEPFATHER. 

"  I  tell  you,  young  lady,"  said  her  stepfather,  "  as 
one  who  knows  the  world,  and  can  speak  with  au- 
thority, "you  have  been  seen  too  much  together, 
and  I  will  add,  that  as  in  your  unconverted  state, 
you  could  never  hope  to  marry  a  Christian,  you 
should  consider  yourself  most  fortunate  in  having 
attached  to  you  so  amiable  a  worldling.  Now,  say 
no  more,  foolish  child,"  (kissing  her  brow  with 
some  show  of  affection.  "  Go  to  your  mother,  talk 
all  this  over  with  her.  and  may  God  bless  you." 

We  were  leaving  the  room,  when  Mr.  Dale  called 
Evelyn  back,  and  I  heard  him  tell  her,  that  she 
must,  now  that  she  was  going  to  be  married,  pre- 
pare also  to  become  a  woman  of  business;  add- 
ing, "  but  your  mother  will  explain  all  "  —  then, 
in  a  louder  voice,  "Mind,  child,  /have  nothing  to 
do  with  it." 

Evelyn  joined  Mrs.  Dale,  who  usually  sat  work- 
ing in  her  morning  room.  The  result  of  their  con- 
ference (to  which  I  was  not  admitted,)  was,  that  a 
letter  was  dispatched  from  his  future  belle  tnere^ 
to  Captain  Travers,  giving  her-formal  consent  to  his 
projected  union  with  her  daughter ;  and,  two  days 
later,  I  was  sent  to  Paris,  on  a  visit  to  the  dear  old 
school,  with  full  and  ample  instructions  as  to  the 
Corbeille  de  mariage,  which  the  fair  fiancee  was 
to  provide  for  herself.  Nor  was  the  little  busi- 


THE   8TEPFATHEB.  33 

ness  affair  alluded  to  by  the  Kev.  Mr.  Dale  forgot- 
ten. A  letter  of  instructions  was  written  by  Eve- 
lyn, under  her  mother's  dictation,  to  her  solicitors,' 
Messrs.  Takeall  &  Co.,  the  result  of  which  was 
highly  advantageous  to  the  reverend  gentleman. 

Let  us  charitably  hope,  that  in  thus  sacrificing  a 
young,  beautiful,  and  talented  daughter,  to  a  man 
she  did  not  love,  Mrs.  Dale  was  in  a  measure  actu- 
ated by  her  desire  to  fulfil  the  dying  wish  of  Eve- 
lyn's father.  We  fear,  however,  that  another  less 
praiseworthy  motive  had  some  influence  on  her  de- 
cision. 

By  no  means  so  saint-like  as  her  spouse,  this  lady 
had  a  great  hankering  after  forbidden  pleasure,  and 
she  doubtless  thought  in  her  inmost  heart,  that  a 
yearly  visit  to  a  gay  and  worldly  house,  she  might, 
in  fact,  term  her  second  home,  would  be  a  most 
agreeable  change  from  the  rather  monotonous  soci- 
ety of  the  elect.  If  such  were  her  idea,  she  was 
doomed  to  disappointment. 

Early  in  the  morning  of  the  eventful  day,  Evelyn 
was  summoned  to  the  sitting  room  of  her  mother. 
She  was  there  introduced  to  the  very  respectable 
legal  adviser  of  the  family,  Mr.  Takeall,  a  gentle- 
man of  some  fifty  summers,  with  a  pair  of  uncom- 
fortable, restless  eyes,  whose  expression  was  some- 
what concealed  by  a  pair  of  spectacles. 


34:  THE   STEPFATHER. 

"  Well,  well,  young  lady,"  said  the  man  of  law, 
very  blandly  ;  "  so  we  are  going  to  be  married,  are 
we  ? — and  we  wish  to  be  quite  a  woman  of  business, 
do  we?  That's  right — that's  right.  Now,  here's 
just  a  little  paper,  to  which  we  must  put  our  name 
— of  course,  with  mama's  sanction — quite  so  ?"  look- 
ing at  Mrs.  Dale,  who  made  a  signal  in  the  affirma- 
tive. 

The  worthy  attorney  then  proceeded  to  business. 
He  emptied  his  large  blue  bag  of  various  parch- 
ments, sealed  with  large  red  seals,  and  tied  with  red 
tape.  Among  these,  (as  I  afterwards  learned,)  was 
a  deed  by  which  Evelyn  signed  away  in  favor  of 
her  stepfather  and  his  children,  her  interest  in  the 
reversion  of  her  mother's  fortune.  This  small  sum 
of  £15,000  had  long  been  coveted  by  the  Vicar.  The 
manner  of  obtaining  it,  worldlings  would  be  apt  to 
call  swindling  ;  the  reverend  gentleman,  probably, 
termed  it,  "  ministering  to  the  necessities  of  the 
saints."  Be  this  as  it  may,  it  was  none  the  less  an 
illegal  transaction,  and  caused,  eventually,  a  com- 
plete break  between  the  Travers  and  Dale  families. 

The  signatures  duly  affixed,  the  wily  attorney 
took  hold  of  both  the  young  girl's  hands.  "  And 
now,  my  fair  client,"  said  he,  "  you  have  been  gen- 
erous— very  generous — a  good  daughter,  very.  Al- 
low me,  my  good  young  lady,  to  wish  you  every 


THE   STEPFATHER.  35 

happiness  ;  and  pray  remember,  Messrs.  Takeall  & 
Co.  will  be  only  too  happy  to  serve  you  in  any  way 
in  their  power." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  replied  the  poor  victim,  strug- 
gling to  free  her  hands,  which  the  bland  lawyer 
kept  shaking ;  "  but  you  forget  that  a  bride  must 


"  Quite  so — quite  so,"  said  Mr.  Takeall,  releasing 
her.  And  as  she  left  the  room,  he  continued,  in  his 
most  caressing  tones,  "  That's  a  good  girl,  my  dear 
Mrs.  Dale — "a  very  good  girl  You  have  reason  to 
be  proud  of  your  daughter,  madam— quite  so,  quite 
so,"  as  he  rolled  up  parchments  and  papers,  and 
stowed  them  away  in  his  capacious  bag. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

THE        BKIDAL. 

THOUGH  the  morning  of  the  wedding  had  dawned 
serene  and  cloudless,  the  glare  of  the  treacherous 
sun  of  May,  was  accompanied  by  the  cutting  east 
wind,  so  prevalent  in  England  in  that  month — fit 
emblem  of  the  chequered  course  of  married  life,  the 
transient  joys  of  which  are  but  too  apt  to  wither 
beneath  the  chill  breezes  of  disappointment.  My 
young  lady  readers,  never  marry  in  May — that  re- 
puted most  unlucky  month  for  hymeneal  ceremonies. 
As  far  as  my  experience  goes,  I  have  invariably 
seen  this  popular  superstition  verified  by  the  result. 

The  wedding  of  the  two  cousins  was  quiet  and  pri- 
vate, the  guests  invited  being  restricted  to  the  imme- 
diate relatives  and  connexions  of  the  young  couple. 
The  bride,  who  was  in  high  beauty,  wore  over  a 
petticoat  of  white  glace  silk  a  richly-embroidered 
robe  of  India  muslin,  the  gift  of  her  husband,  who 
had  brought  it  from  India.  Her  wreath  and  bou- 


THE   BEIDAL.  37 

quet  were  of  real  orange  flowers  and  myrtle,  and  a 
veil  of  the  most  delicate  lace  enveloped  her  youth- 
ful form,  as  in  a  cloud.  Her  two  young  sisters,  a 
friend  and  myself,  in  white  tarletan,  trimmed  with 
pink,  and  looking  like  rose-buds  around  a  queenly 
white  moss-rose,  formed  the  bridal  train ;  and  six 
little  girls  from  the  Sunday  school,  dressed  in  white, 
strewed  flowers  in  their  beloved  teacher's  path. 
Evelyn,  "  the  observed  of  all  observers,"  did  not,  I 
think,  appear  fully  to  realize  the  solemnity  of  the 
occasion,  though  I  fancied  I  perceived  a  slight  shud- 
der pass  through  her  frame,  as  the  irrevocable  words 
were  uttered,  which  fixed  her  destiny  forever.  I, 
for  my  part,  could  not  shake  oft'  a  certain  gloom,  by 
no  means  appropriate  to  so  festive  an  occasion ;  but 
I  tried  hard  to  be  cheerful :  and  it  was  not  until 
the  last  farewells  were  spoken,  and  Evelyn  smiling, 
but  tearful,  was  seated  in  her  britschka,  by  the  side 
of  her  good-looking  young  husband,  that  I  sought 
the  solitude  of  my  chamber,  and  gave  full  and  un- 
restrained vent  to  my  feelings. 

Evelyn's  first  letters,  though  short,  were  happy 
and  hopeful.  She  made  a  tour  of  about  six  weeks 
in  the  northern  counties  of  England,  visiting  also  a 
part  of  Scotland. 

Soon  after  her  return  to  the  house  of  her  hus- 
band, which,  my  readers  will  remember,  was  also 


38  THE   BBIDAL. 

that  of  her  beloved,  though  unknown  father,  I  re- 
ceived from  my  friend  a  long  letter,  which  I  shall 
proceed  to  transcribe,  that  she  may  speak  for  her- 
self: 

EVELYN   TBAVKBS   TO   MAEY   MILDMAY. 

The  Abbey,  Woodlands,  Derbyshire,) 
July ,  18 .  J 

You  upbraid  me  for  my  long  silence  and  short 
letters,  my  own  Mary,  forgetting  that  I  have  been, 
for  the  last  few  weeks,  incessantly  on  the  move,  be- 
sides having  suffered,  with  becoming  patience,  that 
infliction  miscalled  "  the  honey-moon,"  which,  with 
the  exception  of  courtship,  is  certainly  the  dullest 
and  most  unprofitable  period  of  one's  life.  Now 
that  I  am  settled  in  my  new  home,  or  rather,  shall  I 
not  say,  in  my  beloved  old  home,  (for  was  it  not 
that  of  my  father  ?)  I  can  sit  down  and  endeavor  to 
fulfil  your  wishes,  by  giving  you  a  detailed  account 
of  all  you  may  desire  to  know. 

First,  then,  this  is  the  dearest  old  place  in  the 
world — inexpressibly  so  to  me,  for  the  sake  of  that 
dear  father,  whom,  though  unknown,  I  love  better 
than  any  living  thing.  Even  as  I  write,  I  have  his 
full-length  portrait  before  me — of  life-size,  and  so 
like  my  impression  of  him,  that  I  should  have 
recognized  it  anywhere.  Yes,  there  are  the  mild 


THE  BRIDAL.  39 

blue  eyes,  the  noble  features,  the  intellectual  brow, 
I  have  frequently  seen  bending  over  my  couch  in 
my  dreams,  when  I  felt  happy — so  happy  in  the 
thought  that,  though  absent  in  body,  he  might,  per- 
haps, still  be  permitted,  by  a  mysterious  Provi- 
dence, to  guide  and  guard  his  daughter.  My  hus- 
band and  myself  have  an  apartment  in  the  left  wing 
of  the  old  Abbey,  which  is  completely  overgrown 
with  ivy.  We  have  a  bed-chamber,  with  two  dress- 
ing-rooms attached — a  smoking  cabinet  for  Kdward, 
full  of  guns,  and  ugly-looking  hooks  to  torment  the 
poor  fishes ;  and  worse  than  all — I  regret  to  say — 
the  chimney  is  ornamented  with  hideous  old  pipes, 
of  all  shapes  and  sizes.  There  is,  of  course,  a 
drawing  room,  and  the  sweetest  boudoir  for  me. 
This  completes  our  suite  of  apartments.  Stay — I 
am  wrong.  There  is  yet  another  room,  with  hang- 
ings of  blue  and  white,  (your  favorite  colors)  which 
I  Have  already  named,  Mary's  "  Canserie,"  in  the 
fond  hope  it  will  shortly  be  occupied  by  her.  Am 
I  wrong?  My  boudoir  is  quite  a  " ladye's  bower," 
its  latticed  windows,  overlooking  the  flower-garden, 
include  also  a  more  distant  view  of  the  park,  with  a 
glimpse  of  the  blue  hills  of  Derbyshire,  the  lordly 
Peak  towering  far  above  his  companions  in  the  dim 
and  distant  horizon.  Our  beautiful  Woodlands  well 
deserves  its  name ;  the  Park  is  rich  in  its  old  ances- 


40  THE   BEIDAL. 

tral  trees,  and  abounds  in  grassy  knolls  ;  and  a  riv- 
er, sparkling  and  clear  as  crystal,  filled  with  trout, 
meanders  through  the  grounds,  preserving  the 
freshness  and  enhancing  the  beauty  of  the  scene. 

Fortunate  creature,  I  think  I  hear  you  exclaim, 
and  truly,  I  can  imagine  no  happier  lot  than  to 
have  called  such  a  place  by  the  sweet  name  of 
home  in  my  girlhood. 

But,  alas  !  as  it  is,  I  envy  the  deer,  the  birds,  the 
flowers,  their  freedom.  Oh,  Mary !  when  start- 
ing on  my  first  journey  as  a  wife,  you  placed  in 
my  hands  a  volume  of  Byron,  your  parting  remem- 
brance, you  little  thought  what  a  fatal  gift  it  would 
prove  to  me.  It  has  opened  a  new  field  of  romance, 
and  from  a  child  your  poor  Evelyn  has  sprung  into 
womanhood.  I  now  know  the  kind  feeling  I  bear 
towards  my  husband  is  not  worthy  the  name  of 
love.  How  then  could  I  continue  to  deceive  him 
by  permitting  him  to  believe  the  contrary  ?  No-;  I 
thought  it  my  duty  to  confess  to  him  that  I  never 
did,  and  never  could  love  him.  And  he — loves  me 
better  than  his  dog,  and  a  little  less  than  his  horse. 

What  a  prospect,  when  one  is  not  yet  seventeen  1 
You  will  tell  me  no  one  is  to  blame  but  myself. 
I  deny  this.  I  am  the  creature  of  circumstance, 
and  could  not  have  done  otherwise  than  I  have  done. 
But  to  return  to  our  family  circle.  You  saw  my 


THE  BRIDAL.  4:1 

father-in-law  at  the  wedding  ;  a  good-hearted,  frank, 
generous,  but  somewhat  rough,  country  squire,  who 
makes  a  great  pet  of  his  new  daughter.  His  wife, 
a  tall,  lanky,  uninteresting  lady,  with  stony  eyes, 
who  studies  nothing  but  her  own  health,  fancying 
herself  a  confirmed  invalid.  She  lives  almost  entirely 
in  her  own  apartments,  only  occasionally  appear- 
ing at  dinner,  to  which  she  does,  however,  most  am- 
ple justice.  This  is  the  only  time  she  ever  sees  the 
good  squire,  her  husband,  and  even  then  she  is  bare- 
ly civil  to  him.  Not  a  very  good  example  for  us 
young  people.  Both  parents  dote  on  their  only  son, 
and  each  appears  jealous  of  the  other's  influence 
over  him.  My  father-in-law,  with  Edward,  some- 
times sit  too  long  over  their  wine,  usually,  indeed, 
not  making  their  appearance  in  the  drawing-room 
till  it  is  almost  time  to  think  of  retiring  for  the 
night,  and  then  they  throw  themselves  into  an  arm 
chair  or  on  a  sofa  and  fall  asleep.  It  is  not,  as  you 
may  suppose,  very  amusing  for  me,  and  only  makes 
me  pine  the  more  for  your  society.  Do  you  re- 
member, Mary,  how  you  used  to  tease  me  and  tell 
me  I  waa  not  going  to  marry  a  man,  "  but  a  pair  of 
moustaches?"  Well,  I  confess,  they  may  have  had 
a  trifle  to  do  with  it,  but  only  just  imagine  my  hor- 
ror :  Edward  appeared  yesterday  morning  at  break- 
fast shorn  of  his  honors,  and  on  my  my  exclamation 


4:2  THE   BRIDAL.. 

of  natural  disgust,  he  informed  me  that  his  name 
having  appeared  in  the  gazette  as  having  sold  out 
of  the  army,  he  was  no  longer  entitled  as  a  civilian, 
to  wear  moustaches.  I  never  thought  my  husband 
clever,  I  knew  he  did  not  care  for  music,  nor  under- 
stand poetry,  but  I  did  fancy  him  good-looking,  and 
now,  Mary,  the  worst  is  to  come — I  actually  think 
him  ugly — his  long  upper-lip,  robbed  of  its  greatest 
ornament,  has  such  a  sullen,  almost  sulky  expres- 
sion, when  he  is  serious  or  asleep,  that  I  actually 
shudder  when  I  look  at  him.  You  who  are  so  sen- 
sible, and  so  posee—  excuse  a  most  expressive  French 
word — will  perhaps  not  understand  this,  and  will 
certainly  blame  me,  and  yet  all  tliese  feelings  are  in- 
voluntary. And  now,  dear  Mary,  hasten  here  to 
your  foolish,  unhappy,  childish,  but  certainly  loving, 
friend,  who  will  count  the  weary  hours  till  she  can 
welcome  you  to  her  new  home. 

Your  attached 

EVELYN. 


CHAPTER  Y. 

A      RAILWAY       JOURNEY. 

THE  country  homes  of  old  England,  standing  amid 
their  ancestral  trees,  what  visions  of  quiet  happiness 
do  they  recall  to  my  mind  !  Memory  loves  to  lin- 
ger before  thy  hospitable  portal,  oh,  Rookwood  ! 
and  hear  once  more  the  kindly  greeting  of  the  ami- 
able and  affectionate  family,  some  of  whose  mem- 
bers, alas!  now  sleep  their  last  sleep — the  others 
are  dead,  at  least  to  me ;  for 

"  The  absent  are  the  dead,  for  they  are  cold, 
And  ne'er  can  we  what  once  we  did  behold ; 
And  they  are  changed — " 

Far  more  so,  than  the  departed,  who  ever  watch  us 
with  their  loving  eyes,  changeless,  immortal. 

A  verdant  spot  in  life's  desert  was  that  dear 
home  to  me,  whose  halls  ever  resounded  with  the 
cheerful  laughter  of  its  happy  and  beloved  in- 


44  A  RAILWAY  JOUftNEY. 

mates  —  the  sisters  all  that  women  ought  to 
be  —  the  brothers,  noble,  manly,  and  gallant 
as  the  knights  of  old — the  venerable  father,  in- 
dulgent, yet  firm  as  a  rock — the  mother,  whom 
I  never  knew,  excepting  by  her  portrait,  a  love- 
ly countenance,  gentle  and  tender  as  a  Madonna 
of  Raphael. 

Each  nook  and  dell  of  that  fair  Park  is  engraven 
on  my  heart  of  hearts.  On  this  grassy  slope,  I 
walked  with  Mary,  as  she  bent  her  steps  toward 
the  village,  where  the  poor  awaited  her  with  bless- 
ings. In  yonder  pleasant  path,  Anne,  the  wit  of  the 
family,  almost  killed  me  with  laughter.  On  that 
gently-rising  eminence,  the  hounds  threw  off — and 
there,  after  a  hard  day's  run,  William,  the  eldest  son, 
who  was  ever  in  at  the  death,  presented  my  de- 
lighted self  with  the  brush.  Under  the  shade  of 
those  wavy  beeches,  which  every  moment  strewed 
their  leaves  in  our  path,  did  the  graceful  and  chiv- 
alrous George  teach  the  tirnid  school  girl  to  ride,  or 
rather,  to  manage  her  rein  ;  he  was  a  very  Bayard 
on  horseback,  and  a  kind  horse-master  to  boot.  He 
loved  to  see  the  noble  animals  well  and  judiciously 
treated,  whether  on  the  road  or  in  the  stable.  I  re- 
member a  saying  he  had,  which  amused  us  all 
immensely — it  was  this : 


A   KAILWAY   JOURNEY.  45 

"Never  'ammer  your  'unter  along  a  'ard  road — 
if  you  wish  to  'ammer  along  a  'ard  road,  'ire  a  'ack 
and  'ammer  'im." 

George  was  handsome,  accomplished,  and  good — 
to  my  girlish  fancy,  a  very  " preux  chevalier,  sans 
peur  et  sans  reproche" — but  he  was  a  decided 
lady's  man,  and,  of  course,  a  passionate  and  rather 
general  admirer  of  beauty.  I  knew  I  was  not  hand- 
some, eo  I  never  again  accepted  an  invitation  to 
join  that  dear  and  happy  circle ;  and  thus  ended  the 
one  romance  of  my  life. 

But  this  is  a  digression.  My  readers  will  remem- 
ber the  very  pressing  invitation  I  had  received  from 
Mrs.  Edward  Travers,  to  join  her  at  Woodlands; 
nevertheless,  I  judged  it  unadvisable,  for  the  pre- 
sent, to  accede  to  her  wishes,  trusting  that,  thrown 
entirely  on  her  husband  for  society,  the  young  wife 
might,  in  time,  learn  to  consider  him  as  her  first  and 
best  friend.  It  was,  therefore,  not  until  the  first 
week  in  October,  that  I  started  from  Warenne 
Vicarage,  at  about  7  A.  M.,  for  the  railway  station, 
in  order  to  take  the  train,  which  met  the  express 
from  London,  as  this  was  the  only  one  which  would 
enable  me  to  reach  Woodlands  the  same  evening. 

It  was  one  of  those  lovely  and  soft,  yet  fresh 
mornings  peculiar  to  our  climate,  at  this  season  of 
the  year,  when  the  sky,  though  serene,  is  not  cloud 


46  A  BAILWAY  JOUKNET. 

less,  and  the  air  is  at  the  same  time  balmy  and 
exhilarating,  and,  as  it  were,  charged  with  vitality. 
The  white  hoar  frost  clung  like  gems  to  the  blades 
of  grass,  and  caused  the  varied  tints  of  the  Autumn 
leaves  to  appear  still  more  fresh  and  glowing. 

I,  for  my  part,  confess  to  feeling  great  delight  in 
"railway  travelling — the  commencement  of  a  jour- 
ney, especially  if  the  end  of  it  promises  pleasure, 
always  raises  my  spirits  in  fine  weather. 

In  England,  this  mode  of  locomotion  is  more  than 
comfortable — it  is  luxurious.  The  termini  and  the 
stations  are  so  well  ordered,  that  you  may  obtain 
your  ticket  at  your  ease,  without  that  rushing  and 
pushing  incident  to  all  other  European  countries. 
If  you  have  to  wait  the  train,  you  do  so  in  a  clean 
and  comfortable  room  in  winter  with  a  large  tire  ; 
or,  if  a  lady,  you  can  remain  in  an  inner  room,  with 
dressing-room  attached,  where  you  may  command 
the  services  of  a  female  attendant.  The  first  class 
waiting  rooms  are,  of  course,  much  better  than 
those  of  the  second  and  third  classes,  though  these 
also  have  every  reasonable  convenience.  Should 
the  carriages  be  in  waiting  at  the  terminus,  (which 
is  usually  the  case)  the  traveller,  after  securing  his 
ticket,  may  instantly  take  his  place,  and,  arrang- 
ing his  dressing-case,  wraps,  &c.,  comfortably 
ensconce  himself  in  his  seat,  before  the  arrival  of 


A   RAILWAY   JOURNEY.  47 

the  less  punctual  passengers.  If  our  traveller  have 
taken  a  first-class  ticket,  he  will  find,  even  it'  he  has 
filled  a  second  place  with,  his  necessary  en- 
cumbrances, he  will  rarely  be  disturbed;  for  those 
who  in  England  can  afford  to  pay  for  the  best 
accommodations,  are  usually  of  a  class  to  whom 
good  manners  are  habitual — they  will,  therefore, 
rather  seek  another  seat  than  put  a  fellow-passenger 
to  inconvenience.  The  railway  companies  being 
most  liberal  with  their  carriages,  the  chances  are, 
if  you  arrive  early  and  manage  well,  you  will 
always  secure  room  for  your  legs.  Six  places  are 
the  usual  complement  of  each  first-class  compart- 
ment ;  these  have  elastic  cushions,  and  are  parti- 
tioned off  with  arms,  like  an  easy-chair,  so  as  to 
allow  the  occupant  of  each  seat  to  lean  back.  The 
French  arrangements  are  still  more  commodious — 
while  the  German  second  class,  "  Wagen,'3  is  equal 
in  comfort  to  the  English  and  French  first  class 
carriages.  These  latter,  in  Germany,  are  literally 
small  "  salons,"  containing  a  sofa,  arm-cliairs,  cen- 
tre-table, and  even  large  and  handsome  mirrors  on 
the  walls. 

What  a  contrast  to  the  American  cars !  Surely, 
Madame  de  Stael  must  have  had  prophetJc  vision  of 
these  odious  vehicles,  when  she  declared  travelling 
to  be  "  Le  plus  triste  plaisir  de  la  vie" — for  I  can 


48  A  RAILWAY  JOURNEY. 

testify,  that  the  old  diligence^  with  its  numerous 
inconveniences,  is  as  the  gates  of  Paradise,  com- 
pared to  the  straight-backed  benches  of  cotton  vel- 
vet, the  stuffy  atmosphere,  and  the  miscellaneous 
and  unsavory  company  in  a  Yankee  car !  The 
coupe  of  a  diligence,  at  least,  permits  of  cleanliness 
and  privacy  ;  but  where,  Oh  !  ye  Goths  and  Van- 
dals, may  we  take  refuge,  in  this  land  of  "  liberty 
and  equality" — but  not  "fraternity" — from  squall- 
ing babies,  tobacco-juice,  spittoons,  and  the  great 
unwashed  ? 

My  readers,  even  though  Americans,  must  pardon 
these  observations.  There  are  very  many  fine  insti- 
tutions in  this  splendid  country  ;  but  there  is  also 
much  room  for  improvement. 

The  American  steamboats  can  "  whip  all  others 
out  of  creation  ;"  but  land  travelling  leaves  much  to 
be  desired.  All  these  thoughts  might  posssibly  have 
passed  through  the  writer's  mind,  had  she  been  an 
American,  as  she  flew,  with  the  speed  of  the  wind, 
through  the  green  and  highly-cultivated  meadows 
of  Merry  England,  seated  in  the  luxurious  fau- 
teuil  of  a  first-class  carriage. 

The  journey  was  without  incident  or  accident. 
On  reaching  the  Derby-junction  station,  the  train 
for  that  Shire,  was,  in  railway  phrase, "  shunted"  on 
to  the  midland-counties  line.  A  sandwich  and  a 


A   BAILWAY   JOTJENET.  49 

cup  of  coffee,  hastily  swallowed,  and  away  flew  the 
train,  at  the  speed  of  sixty  miles  an  hour,  through  a 
rich  country,  diversified  by  hill,  wood,  and  water — 
all  glowing  in  the  beams  of  the  now  setting  sun. 
One  hour  more,  and  we  stop.  I  catch  a  glimpse  of 
the  most  coquettish  little  hat  in  the  world,  shading 
a  radiant  and  lovely  young  face.  Springing  out,  I 
am  caught  and  kissed,  and  hurried  into  a  carriage 
in  waiting.  One  moment,  and  John,  the  footman, 
touching  his  hat,  says :  "  Please,  ma'am,  the  lug- 
gage is  all  right."  A  pretty,  silvery  voice  at  my 
side,  replies:  "  Yery  well — home."  John  mounts 
the  box,  and  Evelyn  and  myself  are  once  more 
together  and  alone. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

HOME      SCENES. 

EVELYN'S  home  was  comfortable  without  being 
luxurious,  and  well  suited  to  a  family  of  moderate 
fortune.  Charmingly  situate,  in  the  loveliest  of 
England's  midland  counties,  the  house,  originally 
an  old  monastery,  stood  in  the  midst  of  a  richly 
wooded  though  not  very  extensive  park.  The 
amusements  at  Woodlands,  as  is  the  case  more  or 
less  all  over  England,  were  more  suitable  to  gentle- 
men than  to  the  fairer  sex.  They  consisted,  princi- 
pally, of  hunting,  shooting,  and  fishing  in  some  of 
the  trout  streams  hard  by.  The  Squire,  as  he  was 
usually  termed,  with  his  son,  Captain  Travers,  con- 
stantly availed  themselves  of  these  facilities  for 
sport ;  consequently  we  ladies  were  left  almost  en- 
tirely on  our  own  resources.  An  occasional  dinner 
party,  to  which  we  were  expected  to  drive  out  some 
ten  or  twelve  miles,  in  full  evening  costume, 
perhaps  on  a  snowy  night,  formed  the  only  variety 


HOME   SCENES.  51 

to  our  rather  monotonous  life.     These  dinner  parties 
were  altogether  "  flat,  stale  and  unprofitable."     The 
usual  codfish,  with  oyster  sauce,  saddle  of  mutton, 
and  boiled  chicken  or  turkey,  were  served  up,  and 
flavored  by  such  conversation  as  the  following : 
"A  fine  day  for  scent,  eh,  Squire?" 
"  Glorious  ;  were  you  in  at  the  death  ?" 
"  I  should  say  so.     By  Jove !  my  mare's  a  clip- 
per, I  can  tell  you." 

"  Smith,  your  grey  rather  swerved  at  that  fence." 
"  Why,  yes  ;  my  fool  of  a  groom  physicked  him 
only  a  week  since,  and  the  fence  was  a  stiff-un,  but 
he's  a  very  devil  to  go." 
Or  thus : 

"  I  say,  gov'n'r,"  (the  s.ang  term  for  father,)  "  how 
many  birds  d'ye  say  we  bagged  to-day  ?" 
"Well,  fifteen  brace." 
"  No,  twenty,  I  tell  ye,  all  fine  uns." 
"  That  dog  of  yours,  Travers,  is  a  capital  setter, 
and  no  mistake.     What's  his  pedigree?" 

"  Oh,  he  was  got  by  Tommy  out  of  Fairstar." 
"  I  should  like  a  pup  of  his,  by  Jove  !" 
After  dinner,  on  the  adjournment  of  the  ladies  to 
the  drawing-room,  the  sporting  talk  commences  in 
right  earnest,  the  wine  circulating  even  more  brisk- 
ly than  before.    The  married  ladies  meanwhile  stand 
around  a  roaring  fire  warming  their  satin-clad  feetj 


52  HOME   SCENES. 

they  complain  to  each  other  of  the  delinquencies  of 
their  servants,  or  boast  of  the  beauty  and  precocity 
of  their  children.  The  entrance,  presently,  of  coffee, 
puts  an  end  to  general  conversation,  as  the  ladies  col- 
lect into  smaller  groups  to  wait  for  tea  and  the  gen- 
tlemen. The  matrons  and  elderly  maidens  perhaps 
indulge  in  a  little  scandal  as  they  sip  the  fragrant 
beverage.  The  more  juvenile  damsels  talk  of  balls, 
past  and  future,  and  of  the  delightful  partners  who 
may  have  fallen  to  their  lot.  Some  would  be  Grisi, 
"  inglorious,"  though  not,  alas !  "  mute,"  possibly  at- 
tacks the  open  piano  with  a  violence  that  makes  you 
almost  imagine  she  is  venting  her  spite  upon  the 
innocent  instrument,  and  then  in  a  cracked  but  sten- 
torian voice,  she  commences  to  shout,  "  Sing  me  the 
songs  that  to  me  were  so  dear,  long,  LONG  ago,  long, 
LONG  ago,"  accentuating  the  dashed  expletives  by  a 
shriller  scream  even  than  before.  At  about  half- 
past  ten  enter  the  lords  of  the  creation,  with  highly 
flushed  faces,  and  vociferating  loudly,  the  words, 
"my  good  fellow,"  "horse,"  "dog,"  "  my  mare," 
"  that  pointer,"  still  forming  the  burden  of  their 
song.  Yery  slight  attention  falls  to  the  share  of 
the  ladies.  A  young  curate,  perhaps,  stands  beside 
the  piano,  turning  the  leaves  of  the  music-book  for 
the  squalling  songstress.  A  whist  table  is  frequent- 
ly formed,  but  at  eleven  a  move  is  made,  and  by 


HOME   SCENES.  53 

half-past,  the  carriage  of  the  last  guest  has  usually 
rolled  from  the  door. 

The  cause  of  Captain  Travers'  shaking  hand  was 
now  but  too  apparrent.  The  captain,  I  regret  to 
say,  seldom,  if  ever,  returned  home  from  these  din- 
ners perfectly  sober,  and  the  old  squire,  though  re- 
joicing in  a  stronger  head  than  his  son,  was  but  too 
often  more  than  "  a  little  elevated."  Latterly  the 
propensity  of  young  Edward  Travers  became  so  un- 
controllable that  no  invitations  ever  came  from  the 
best  houses  in  the  neighborhood  to  Woodlands,  a 
very  great  slight  to  one  of  the  oldest  families  in  the 
county. 

Our  readers  may  readily  imagine  that  though 
blessed  with  every  outward  advantage  of  person 
and  position,  our  heroine  felt  more  alone  even  than 
when  cloistered  within  the  walls  of  Warrenne  Yic- 
arage.  Then  at  least  she  might  hope  for  a  brighter 
future  ;  now  to  hope  were  a  crime,  for  would  it  not 
involve  the  death  of  another,  and  that  other  a  hus- 
band. The  marriage  tie,  in  its  spiritual  and  inner 
sense,  is,  indeed,  as  we  are  taught  to  believe,  an  in- 
heritance from  Paradise  ;  it  supposes  the  perfect 
union  of  the  sexes,  so  that  two  separate  existences 
become  virtually  one  individual.  Neither  would 
be  complete  without  the  other.  Force  blends  with 
weakness ;  firmness  with  gentleness ;  and  mutual 


54  HOME  SCENES. 

love  and  confidence  is  the  crowning  bliss  of  all. — 
But  observe  the  reverse  of  the  picture,  alas !  far 
more  common  than  the  other  side.  The  hourly  clash 
of  angry  tempers  and  selfish  desires,  brutality  and 
neglect  on  the  part  of  the  husband,  met  by  reproach- 
es from  the  wife,  and  yet  with  all  this,  and  perhaps 
the  vice  of  intoxication  in  addition,  the  wretched 
pair  must  drag  out  a  miserable  existence  till  "  death 
do  them  part."  Happy  those  countries  where  di- 
vorce is  permitted  for  other,  though  not  slighter 
causes  than  infidelity ! 

I  mentioned  that  Evelyn,  as  a  girl,  was  scarcely 
aware  either  of  her  beauty  or  of  her  extreme  power 
of  fascination.  Xow  that  she  had  become  a  married 
child,  older  women  spoiled  her,  telling  her  she  had 
thrown  herself  away,  and  that  with  advantages  of. 
person  and  fortune  such  as  hers,  she  might  have  as- 
pired to  become  a  duchess,  or,  as  Evelyn  added 
with  a  sigh,  "  I  might,  had  I  waited,  have  met  with 
one  worthy  of  my  love,  and  have  become  a  happy, 
instead  of  an  unloving  and  therefore  wretched  wife." 
Often  have  I  contrasted  Rookwood — beloved  home 
of  the  intelligent,  the  refined,  the  sympathetic — 
with  the  scarcely  less  beautiful  Woodlands,  the 
abode  of  uncongenial  spirits. 

"  Trifles,"  says  a  modern  female  writer,*  "  make 
*  Mrs.  Hannah.  More. 


HOME   SCENES.  56 

the  sum  of  human  things  ;"  and  she  was  right.  Hap- 
piness depends  more  on  the  hourly  nothings  of  ex- 
istence than  we  are  fain-  to  believe,  and  a  continual 
dripping  of  water  will  wear  away  the  hardest  rock. 
The  great  sorrows  of  life  are  rare ;  its  intense  joys 
rarer  still;  we  have  it  in  our  power  to  embit- 
ter our  own  lot  and  that  of  others,  or  to  be  to  them 
as  a  ministering  angel  and  thus  bring  a  blessing  on 
ourselves.  Did  the  young  wife  prepare  to  buy  a 
a  new  dress,  her  husband  would  term  it  useless  ex- 
travagance, and  refuse  to  furnish  her  with  the  means 
for  procuring  it,  even  though  these  were  actually 
of  her  own  money.  When  she  wished  for  a  drive, 
the  horses  were  required  to  go  to  cover,  or  they 
had  a  cough,  or  were  in  physic.  Did  Evelyn  in 
the  evening  place  herself  at  her  harp,  and  sing  in 
her  sweetest  and  most  thrilling  tones,  some  of 
Moore's  plaintive  melodies,  or  of  Mrs.  Hemans' 
beautiful  songs,  the  "  thank  you,  my  dear,"  of  the 
kind  but  unappreciative  Squire,  would  be  echoed 
by  a  loud  snore  from  his  sleeping  son,  just  in  the 
most  effective  part  of  the  performance.  Later,  when 
her  health  became  delicate,  as  the  prospect  of  ma- 
ternity dawned  upon  her,  even  the  visits  of  a  phy- 
sician in  an  "  illness  common  to  all  women,"  as  the 
Captain  amiably  remarked,  were  an  unnecessary 
expense.  Let  not  my  readers  imagine  this  was 


56  HOME   SCENES. 

"malice  prepense" — it  was  only  selfishness — that 
bane  of  married  life. 

Edward  Travers  was  the  only  son  of  foolish  pa- 
rents. His  mother,  selfish  herself,  and  inconsider- 
ate as  to  consequences,  fostered  his  youthful  vices ; 
and  even  on  the  rare  occasions  when  the  father 
thought  it  necessary  to  correct  his  boy,  the  silly 
and  ill-tempered  wife  ever  took  the  son's  part 
against  the  husband  she  so  much  disliked,  and  en- 
deavored to  compensate,  by  a  larger  slice  of  cake 
or  an  extra  glass  of  wine,  that  which  she  did  not 
scruple  to  impress  on  the  lad's  mind  as  unjustifiable 
harshness  on  the  part  of  the  governor.  Thus 
trained  up  "  in  the  way  he  should"  not  "  go,"  can 
it  be  wondered  at,  if  he  was  innately  though  unin- 
tentionally selfish,  and  utterly  regardless  of  the 
feelings  of  the  wife,  whose  sympathies  he  never 
had  ?  Mrs.  Travers,  Sen'r.  also  did  all  she  could 
to  foment  the  dissensions  which  constantly  arose  be- 
tween the  two  who  should  have  been  as  one.  Even 
the  birth  of  a  daughter  failed  to  cement  a  breach, 
which  widened  every  day.  A  son  would  have 
been  welcomed  with  joy  by  the  family,  as  heir  to 
estates  entailed  in  the  male  line,  but  a  girl  was 
considered  as  a  useless  and  expensive  incumbrance, 
by  all  but  the  young  mother  herself. 

After  the  birth  of  my  little  god-daughter,  cold- 


HOME   SCENES.  57 

ness  and  indifference  became  actual  dislike.  Eve- 
lyn and  her  husband  scarcely  ever  spoke,  and  a  vir- 
tual separation  took  place  between  them.  I  remained 
some  time  at  the  Abbey,  being  loth  to  leave  my 
friend  under  such  trying  circumstances.  Evelyn 
endeavored  to  beguile  the  time  by  cultivating  her 
taste  for  music;  we  also  studied  together  various 
volumes,  both  of  ancient  and  modern  history,  and 
even  sounded  the  depths  of  natural  philosophy  and 
astronomy.  Poetry  and  light  literature,  she  said, 
made  her  melancholy,  as  they  portrayed  untrue 
pictures  of  life— especially  with  regard  to  love  and 
marriage.  She  never  would  be  persuaded  to  peruse 
any  tale  which  finished  happily  ;  but  stories  of  mis- 
fortune, ending  in  separation  or  death,  she  read 
with  avidity. 

This  was  a  most  unhealthy  state  of  mind.  Eve- 
lyn's feelings  were  exceedingly  embittered  towards 
her  mother  and  stepfather,  whom  she  considered  to 
have  occasioned  the  terrible  mistake  of  her  life. 
Her  husband  she  pitied  with  a  feeling  akin  to  con- 
tempt, knowing  that,  with  a  common-place  wife,  he 
might  have  become  a  better  and  a  happier  man, 
but  confessing  herself  totallv  unsuited  to  him.  She 
would  not,  however,  attempt  in  any  way  to  brighten 
his  path ;  neither  would  she  endeavor  to  wean  him 
from  his  intemperate  habits,  which,  unhappily,  be- 


58 


HOME    SCENES. 


came  daily  more  confirmed.  I  could  not  but  blame, 
though  my  heart  bled  for  poor  Evelyn  ;  for  I  felt 
that,  sooner  or  later,  she  would  learn  how  that  for 
each  and  all  of  our  wrong  doings,  and  even  for  our 
sins  of  omission,  a  just  retribution  awaits  us,  either 
here  or  hereafter. 


CHAPTER   YIL 

PRESENTATION       TO      THE       QUEEN. 

THE  drama  of  real  life,  like  that  represented 
nightly  on  the  mimic  stages  of  our  theatres, 
naturally  divides  itself  into  acts  and  scenes.  Will 
our  kind  and  gracious  readers  be  pleased  to  imagine 
themselves  now  sitting  before  the  drop-curtain, 
which  has  just  closed  over  the  first  act  of  our  piece? 
In  order  to  put  them  into  an  indulgent  humor, 
let  fancy  place  them  in  the  best  and  most  commo- 
dious of  private  boxes,  where,  ensconced  in  the 
most  luxurious  of  lounges,  and  (if  a  lady)  looking 
most  charming  in  an  opposite  mirror,  they  may 
placidly  and  patiently  await  the  rising  of  the  cur- 
tain. Then  let  my  fair  and  friendly  reader  turn,  in 
imagination,  to  the  play  book,  and  find  that  a  period 
of  some  ten  years  is  supposed  to  have  elapsed  be- 
tween the  first  and  second  acts  of  our  drama ;  let 
her  point  this  out  to  her  companion,  whom  we  will 
suppose  to  be  the  gentleman  without  whom  even 


60  PRESENTATION   TO    THE    QUEEN. 

the  most  interesting  plot  would  prove  insipid. 
Then  let  the  fair  lady  and  her  admirer  turn  to  our 
little  stage,  and  give  us  their  undivided  attention. 

The  curtain  slowly  rises,  disclosing  a  gay  and 
brilliant  scene,  the  presence  chamber  at  the  Court 
of  Victoria — that  lady,  even  more  royal  by  her  vir- 
tues, than  through  her  exalted  position,  though  that 
were  of  the  highest  ever  filled  by  woman.  Graceful 
and  gracious  stands  the  Queen,  to  receive  the  hom- 
age of  the  fairest  and  the  noblest  of  the  land.  Her 
royal  husband  is  beside  her,  in  the  prime  of  manly 
beauty.  In  a  semi-circle,  glittering  with  diamonds, 
and  gold,  and  scarlet,  stand  the  illustrious  princes 
and  princesses  of  the  blood  ;  and  still  farther  in  the 
background,  appears  a  scarcely  less  dazzling  group 
of  court  beauties  and  gallant  cavaliers  in  attendance 
upon  the  royal  party.  The  beauteous  Duchess  of 
"Wellington,  whose  long  dark  lashes  veil  eyes  whose 
lustre  sorrow  and  disappointment  have  somewhat 
dimmed  ;  the  brilliant  Lady  Jocelyn,  the  queenly 
Duchess  of  Southerland,  all  are  there  in  attendance 
on  their  beloved  Sovereign.  The  cou/p  d'ceuil  is 
splendid  ;  but  few  who  pass  before  that  august  cir- 
cle dare  raise  their  eyes  to  admire  it.  A  moment, 
and  the  Lord  Chamberlain  receives  a  card,  and 
announces  the  name  of  a  lady  to  be  presented  to 
her  Majesty.  The  lady,  robed  in  white,  steps  grace- 


PRESENTATION   TO   THE   QUEEN.  61 

fully  forward,  and  makes  a  deep  and  respectful 
obeisance  to  the  Queen  ;  another,  equally  graceful, 
but  somewhat  less  humble  to  the  royal  circle,  and 
then  backing  slowly  out  of  the  presence  chamber, 
receives  the  train  on  her  arm  from  a  page  in  wait- 
ing— when,  no  longer  under  the  immediate  eye  of 
majesty,  she  is  permitted  to  walk  in  the  manner 
which  nature  intended.  A  whisper  of  admiration  is 
heard  from  many  a  young  scion  of  nobility  and 
officer  present. 

"  How  beautiful !" 

"Who  is  she?" 

"  She  must  be  a  married  woman." 

"  Ah  !  it  is  the  new  Russian  Princess  they  talk 
so  much  about.'" 

"  No — it  is  Baroness  What's-her-name — you  know 
who  I  mean — they  say  the  Duke  of  Devonshire  is 
smitten  with  her." 

"  I  say,  Melville,  who  is  that  pretty  creature  ?" 

The  young  guardsman  either  did  not,  or  would 
not  reply,  though  he  soon  set  the  matter  at  rest  by 
advancing  toward  the  fair  object  of  all  this  cross- 
fire. 

"  How  are  you,  Mrs.  Travers?"  said  he.  "  Allow 
me  to  pilot  you  through  the  crowd." 

"  Thank  you,  Col.  Melville — I  shall  most  gladly 
avail  myself  of  your  escort  to  my  carriage." 


62  PEESENTATION   TO   THE   QUEEN. 

"  How  did  you  get  through  the  presentation  ?" 

"Very  well.  Her  Majesty  appeared  in  a  most 
gracious  mood,  and  the  Prince  looked  splendidly- 
handsome." 

"  As  you  do  to-day — you  are  the  true  Queen  of 
the  drawing-room."  Then,  in  a  lower  voice — "  Oh, 
Evelyn,  let  us  hasten  from  this  place.  I  cannot 
bear  that  another  than  myself  should  even  see  you, 
now  that  our  time  together  is  so  short." 

"  We  shall  meet  again  ere  long  I  trust,"  she  re- 
plied. 

"  With  what  coolness  and  indifference  you  speak 
of  our  parting.  Ah,  it  was  not  so  when  at  Wood- 
lands you — " 

Evelyn's  cheek  flushed,  and  her  eyes  took  a  dis- 
pleased expression. 

"  How  selfish  you  men  are !  You  well  know  that 
I  am  not  going  abroad  for  my  own  pleasure,  but 
that  I  am  ordered  to  Italy  to  recruit  my  health. — 
Why,  then,  blame  me  for  that  which  is  inevitable  ?" 

"  Blame  you,  Evelyn  ?"  and  the  young  heart 
throbbed,  and  the  earnest  eyes  tilled  with  a  sorrow- 
ful indignation. 

The  two  walked  on  in  silence — and  never  did 
mortal  pair,  since  the  days  of  our  first  parents,  ap- 
pear outwardly  more  suited  to  each  otlier. 

Evelyn  is  still  all  that  we  have  painted   her  in 


PRESENTATION   TO   THE   QUEEN.  63 

early  life — though  the  varying  blush  of  girlhood 
has  given  place  to  the  fresh  bloom  of  matured  wo- 
manhood, and  the  figure  once  slight  to  a  fault  has 
acquired  that  voluptuous  roundness,  united  with 
grace  peculiar  to  the  women  of  Andalusia — for  Eve- 
lyn's mother  was  of  Spanish  extraction.  Col.  Mel- 
ville is  the  perfect  type  of  an  aristocratic  English- 
man— tall  and  muscular,  yet  slight ;  of  a  noble  mil- 
itary bearing,  and  a  face  whose  faultless  regularity 
of  feature  might  rival  even  with  that  of  his  fair 
companion;  hair  of  a  light  brown,  curling  natural- 
ly like  the  locks  of  "  the  god  of  the  etherial  bow ;" 
whiskers  of  the  same  shade ;  deep-set  eyes,  where 
sincerity  sat  enthroned — and  a  countenance  ex- 
pressive of  goodness  and  feeling,  still  flushed  with 
the  glow  of  youth. 

Such  is  the  description  of  the  cavalier,  leaning 
on  whose  manly  arm,  our  heroine  threaded  her 
way  through  the  crowded  reception  rooms  of  the 
Palace  of  St.  James. 

"  Mrs.  Travere'  carriage  stops  the  way,"  cries  a 
voice  outside. 

The  name  is  taken  up,  and  re-echoed  again  and 
again,  till  it  is  given  as  "  Travers'  carriage,"  "  Tra- 
vers'  Brougham,"  "  Towers'  coming  out." 

Evelyn,  hastily  cloaking,  has  sprung  into  her  Cla- 
rence, but  not  before  a  tender  glance  and  a  be- 


64:  PRESENTATION   TO   THE    QUEEN. 

witching  smile,  accompanied  by  a  hurried  "  yon 
will  dine  with  me  to-morrow,  my  last  evening,"  has 
quite  restored  the  young  guardsman  to  equanimity. 

Let  us  leave  our  heroine  to  the  society  of  her 
own  thoughts,  and  look  once  more  through  memo- 
ry's glass  into  the  long  vista  of  the  past.  Many 
characters  who  have  once  figured  in  these  pages, 
are  now  no  longer  living.  Mrs.  Dale  has  died,  a 
heart-broken  woman,  most  ungratefully  treated  by 
the  husband  for  whom  she  had  sacrificed  her  child, 
and  her  own,  and  much  of  her  daughter's  fortune. 
The  by  no  means  disconsolate  widower  shortly  after 
married  one  of  the  most  devoted  of  his  many  female 
worshippers — and  his  present  wife  rivals,  it  is  said, 
even  that  great  saint  in  sanctity.  The  good  old 
Squire  has  gone  to  his  final  account .  Peace  be 
with  his  ashes  ! — for  his  vices  were  born  of  circum- 
stance, his  virtues  were  his  own. 

Evelyn  is  now  a  widow.  Let  us  drop  a  veil  over 
the  closing  scenes  of  the  life  of  one  whose  deathbed 
was  invaded  by  the  baleful  spectres  of  delirium  tre- 
mens.  Let  us  hope  that,  though  disliking  her  hus- 
band, the  wife  shrank  not  from  her  duty  when  the 
poor  sufferer's  moans  resounded  through  the  cham- 
ber of  sickness.  I  have  reason  to  know  Evelyn  was 
dissatisfied  with  herself,  when  the  end  came — at 
last  unexpectedly,  almost  suddenly  :  but  I  will  fain 


PRESENTATION   TO   THE   QUEEN.  65 

hope  she  judged  too  harshly  her  involuntary  short- 
comings. I  know,  also,  that  if  she  in  aiiy  way  failed 
in  her  duty,  her  sin  has  not  remained  unpunished. 

Old  Mrs.  Travers  still  lives,  or  rather  vegetates, 
like  some  elderly  animal  of  the  feline  species,  who 
passes  her  time  in  spitting  at  any  more  juvenile 
pussy  who  ventures  across  her  august  path.  She 
has  gone  to  live — I  know  not  where,  and  care  still 
less.  Sweet  Woodlands,  no  longer  the  abode  of  a 
Travers,  has  passed  to  a  very  distant  connexion  of 
the  family.  Evelyn  consequently  is  still  condemned 
to  be  without  kith  and  kin  in  the  world.  When, 
therefore,  under  the  advice  of  the  family  physician, 
she  decided  on  a  prolonged  sojourn  in  Italy,  a  let- 
ter was  at  once  despatched  to  secure  myself  as  a 
travelling  companion.  I  was  then,  and  am  still — 
shall  I  confess  it? — AN  OLD  MAID — for  I  was  past 
thirty,  and  unmarried. 

I  gladly  accepted  Evelyn's  proposal  to  accom- 
pany her,  but  made  it  a  condition  that  little  Ella, 
her  only  child,  should  be  my  especial  charge,  thus 
relieving  her  mother  of  some  little  care  and  respon- 
sibility. 

The  evening  preceding  our  departure,  we  dined 
at  our  hotel,  in  company  with  Colonel  Reginald 
Melville ;  and,  as  he  had  politely  brought  us  a  box 
for  Covent  Garden,  we  left  instantly  after  dinner, 


66  PRESENTATION   TO   THE   QUEEN. 

in  order  not  to  lose   the   commencement  of  the 
opera. 

"Whilst  my  ears  were  drinking  in  the  magnificent 
harmonies  of  the  "  Benediction  des  Poignards?  in 
the  Huguenots,  and  my  breath  was  suspended  as  the 
delicious  tones  of  the  matchless  Mario  rang  through 
the  house,  in  the  exquisite  final  duo,  I  naturally 
turned  to  Evelyn,  whom  I  knew  to  be  passionately 
fond  of  music  as  myself,  and  to  be  even  a  better 
judge  of  it  scientifically  than  I  am,  I  met  her 
entranced  look  :  but  I  saw  that  Colonel  Melville 
had  eyes  and  ears  only  for  her. 

"  She  was  his  sight ; 

For  his  eye  saw  with  hers,  and  followed  hers ; 
Which  colored  all  his  objects— she  was  his  life, 
The  ocean  to  the  river  of  his  thoughts, 
Which  terminated  all." 

There  was  a  subdued  sorrow  in  his  look,  which 
touched  me  deeply.  Does  she  love  him  ?  I  thought, 
as  I  watched  her  bright  and  beaming  glance,  all 
untroubled  by  the  thought  of  the  morrow's  parting ; 
or,  can  it  be  that  she  is  heartless,  the  friend  of  rny 
youth,  whom  I  have  loved,  and  still  love  so  dearly  ? 
JSlethinks,  if  she  have  a  heart,  she  cnnnot  but  be 
touched  by  a  devoticn  so  deep.  Oh,  true  woman — 


PRESENTATION   TO   THE   QUEEN.  67 

"  In  our  hours  of  ease, 
Uncertain,  coy,  and  hard  to  please," 

Who  can  fathom  the  depths  of  thy  soul  ?  My  sym- 
pathies from  that  night  were  with  Melville,  and  I 
determined  any  influence  I  might  have  over  Eve- 
lyn, should  be  exerted  in  favor  of  this,  her  true 
knight. 


CHAPTER  YIIL 

FOREIGN      TRAVEL. 

ON  the  very  loveliest  of  summer  mornings,  in  the 
leafy  month  of  June,  Evelyn  and  myself,  with  the 
little  fair-haired  Ella,  a  maid,  and  a  courier,  started 
by  the  mail  train  for  Dover.  We  were  in  the 
highest  spirits,  and  anticipated  much  enjoyment  in 
our  projected  journey. 

If  a  shade  of  tender  melancholy  lingered  on  the 
cheek  of  my  fair  companion,  at  the  thought  of  her 
recent  parting  with  a  handsome  and  devoted  admi- 
rer, it  was  soon  dissipated  as  she  called  to  mind  his 
promise  to  join  us,  either  at  Venice  or  Florence,  as 
soon  as  his  military  duties  would  permit  him  to 
take  advantage  of  the  usual  autumn  regimental 
leave. 

Our  journey  through  "  la  belle  France  "  was  a 
hurried  one.  Our  first  halt  was  at  Vevay,  on  the 
Lake  of  Geneva.  Here  we  remained  a  few  days, 
enjoying  the  view  of  the  snow-capped  mountains — 


FOEEIGN   TRAVEL.  69 

Mont  Blanc,  like  a  hoary  giant,  faintly  discerned  in 
the  distance.  We  made  a  pilgrimage  to  "  Sweet 
Clarens,"  rendered  far  more  interesting  through  the 
graphic  pen  of  our  own  immortal  Byron,  than  as  the 
abode  of  that  disgusting  sensualist  —  Rousseau, 
whose  writings,  (such  of  them,  at  least,  as  I  have 
seen),  I  utterly  abhor. 

I  may  be  permitted  here  to  remark,  that,  apart 
from  its  exquisite  poetic  beauties,  we  found  Childe 
Harolde  the  best  and  truest  of  descriptive  guide 
books,  for  a  work  of  true  genius  in  poetry  as  in 
music,  though  capable  of  satisfying  the  highest 
intellectual  requirements,  is  also  adapted  to  interest 
and  please  the  million. 

At  Yevay  we  engaged  a  vetturino  to  take  us  over 
the  magnificent  Simplon  pass  to  the  head  of  the 
Lake  of  Como,  whence  we  intended  crossing  in  the 
steamer  to  the  town,  which  takes  its  name  from  the 
lake,  and  is  situated  at  its  lower  extremity. 

The  pass  of  the  Simplou  presents  to  the  traveller 
every  variety  of  scenery,  from  the  verdant  and 
flowery  valfey,  with  its  murmuring  brook  and  rich 
pasturage,  to  the  rugged  and  barren  heights,  where 
eternal  snow  usurps  the  place  of  vegetation,  and 
the  ear  is  constantly  assailed  by  the  crash  of  the 
avalanche,  as  it  leaps  from  crag  to  crag  and  is 


70  FOEEIGN   TBAVEL. 

finally  lost  in  some  unfathomable  abyss,  into  whose 
depths  the  sun  never  penetrates. 

Our  journey  usually  commenced  at  sunrise. 
Having  taken  a  cup  of  coffee,  or  a  glass  of  deli- 
cious new  milk,  we  entered  the  carriage,  enjoying 
the  exquisite  freshness  and  fragrance  of  the  morn- 
ing air.  At  about  eleven,  a  two-hours'  rest  for  the 
horses  brought  us  to  some  shady  road-side  inn, 
where  a  breakfast  of  mountain  trout,  fresh 
caught  from  the  stream,  and  perhaps  a  chamois  cut. 
let  awaited  us.  Much  less  tempting  fare  would, 
as  my  readers  may  imagine,  have  had  ample  jus- 
tice done  to  it,  under  such  favorable  circumstances 
for  exciting  an  appetite. 

Between  one  and  two  our  second  start  was  made. 
Our  route,  perhaps,  then  led  through  a  forest  of 
pines,  rendered  doubly  aromatic  by  the  magnetism 
of  the  sun's  beams ;  or,  it  might  be,  the  bed  of  a 
torrent  skirted  our  path,  which  we  had  more  than 
once  to  cross,  on  the  most  picturesque  of  bridges. 
The  road  over  this  grandly  terrible  pass  is  suffi- 
ciently wide  to  admit  of  two  diligences  passing 
abreast,  without  any  danger  of  falling  down  the 
awful  precipice,  which  ever  yawns  on  one  side  of 
the  road,  and  sometimes  on  either.  To  construct 
such  a  route  over  such  a  mountain,  it  required  the 
genius  of  a  Napoleon  to  conceive  and  to  execute ; 


FOREIGN   TKAVEL.  71 

and  each  step  taken  by  the  Alpine  traveller,  whe 
ther  his  way  lie  over  the  Splugen,  the  Cenis,  or  the 
still  finer  and  more  easy  Simplon  pass,  must  raise 
his  admiration  for  the  herculean  labors  of  this  won- 
der-working architect. 

Between  five  and  six,  we  halted  for  the  night, 
probably  in  the  vicinity  of  some  cataract,  the  rush- 
ing of  whose  waters  lulled  us  to  that  sweet  sleep 
which  was  ever  ready  to  come  to  our  pillow.  As 
fur  as  my  experience  goes,  these  little  way-side  inns, 
frequented  by  vetturini  are  by  far  the  cleanest, 
best,  and  cheapest  I  ever  entered ;  and  from  our 
large  city  hotels,  I  have  frequently  looked  back  to 
their  homely  comforts  with  regret. 

Our  prolonged  journey  permitted  my  turning  the 
conversation,  occasionally,  on  Colonel  Melville.  I 
learned  from  Evelyn,  that  her  acquaintance  with 
him  commenced  in  rather  a  romantic  manner.  He 
was  hunting  in  their  neighborhood,  and  in  taking  a 
leap,  his  horse  fell  with  him,  and  he  had  the  misfor- 
tune to  break  his  leg.  Captain  Travers,  who  wit- 
nessed the  accident,  ordered  Melville  to  be  carried 
to  Woodlands,  where,  unable  to  be  moved  without 
risk,  he  remained  for  six  weeks  confined  to  his  bed. 
Evelyn  tended  him  through  his  illness,  and  a  strong 
sympathy  springing  up  between  them,  he  became  a 
constant  and  welcome  guest  at  the  Abbey,  until  old 


72  FOREIGN   TRAVEL. 

Mrs.  Travers,  lynx-eyed  as  are  most  dowagers,  per- 
ceiving a  growing  attachment  between  the  parties, 
persuaded  her  son  to  be  rude  to  Melville,  and  to 
suspect  the  prudence  of  his  wife.  Provoked  at  her 
mother-in-law's  ill-nature,  and  angry  at  the  unjust 
aspersions  of  her  husband,  Evelyn  confessed  that  she 
had  kept  up  a  clandestine  correspondence  with  the 
young  man,  by  letter,  and  also  had  occasionally 
met  him  alone  in  the  park.  She  added,  that,  aware 
of  her  unhappiness,  Melville  had  presumed  even  to 
speak  to  her  of  marriage,  should  she  ever  regain  her 
freedom.  Since  her  widowhood,  however,  she  told 
me  she  had  forbidden  him  ever  to  allude  to  the  sub- 
ject of  their  future  union  till  a  decent  time  should 
have  elapsed  since  the  death  of  her  husband. 

I  was  glad  to  receive  her  confidence,  but  thought 
it  my  duty  to  chide  her  imprudence,  in  permitting 
herself,  as  a  married  woman,  clandestine  meetings 
with  an  avowed  lover.  I  showed  her,  that  however 
innocent  her  feelings  and  intentions,  her  husband 
would  have  had  a  right  to  suspect  the  worst,  add- 
ing that  even  to  Col.  Melville  she  had  given  but  too 
much  occasion  to  think  lightly  of  her  discretion,  but 
that  I  trusted  having  proved  that  she  loved  him  to 
the  very  verge  of  imprudence,  she  would  later  be- 
come to  him  the  most  faithful  and  modest  of  wives. 


FOREIGN   TRAVEL.  73 

Whatever  reply  Evelyn  might  have  made,  was  cut 
short  by  Ella's  exclamation — 

u  See,  mama !  how  lovely !" 
We  looked — and  there  lay  the  beauteous  Como, 
with  her  waters  of  sapphire,  sparkling  as  if 
gemmed  with  a  thousand  diamonds,  in  the  beams 
of  the  mid-day  sun,  her  banks  studded  with  innu- 
merable villas,  white  as  Parian  marble.  We  reach- 
ed Colico  in  time  to  take  the  steamer  to  the  foot  of 
the  lake.  At  the  small  town  of  Como  we  found  the 
train  waiting  to  convey  us  to  Milan. 

I  will  not  here  detain  my  readers  to  describe  the 
fine  Cathedral,  with  its  lofty  dome,  filled  with  that 
"  dim  religious  light,"  which  insensibly  recalls  us 
from  the  multiform  distractions  of  daily  life,  and 
disposes  the  mind  to  devotion.  I  pity  the  man 
who  could  enter  such  an  edifice  without  breathing  a 
prayer,  however  short,  to  the  Author  of  all  good.  I 
do  not  envy  him,  if  he  could  leave  that  sacred 
building,  and  not  feel,  at  least  momentarily,  the 
desire  to  become  "  a  wiser  and  a  better  man." 

We  remained  but  one  day  in  Milan — just  glanced 
at  Padua,  Mantua,  Yerona — all  interesting  cities  in 
themselves,  but  still  more  so  from  the  association 
of  their  names  in  the  divine  comedies  of  the  "sweet 
swan  of  Avon,"  our  own  immortal  Shakespeare. — 
These  feir  cities  were  powerless  to  arrest  our  steps. 

4 


74:  FOREIGN   TRAVEL. 

A  fever  was  upon  our  spirits,  which  brooked  not 
delay — and  wherefore?  Beautiful  city  of  my 
dreams!  thou  "seaCybele,"  rising  from  the  blue 
waters  of  the  Adriatic,  with  thy  numerous  palaces 
and  thy  countless  spires,  gleaming  so  white  in  the 
pure  Italian  moonlight — was  it  not  to  look  upon 
thy  loveliness  as  in  a  vision,  that  we  pressed  on- 
ward, and  still  onward,  as  the  young  lover  to  greet 
his  beloved.  The  stormy  ocean  kisses  thy  marble 
feet  in  homage — wert  thou  not  his  bride  of  old  ? — 
Thou  most  silent  Queen,  dost  thou  mourn  in  voice- 
less grief  the  decay  of  thy  sculptured  halls,  once  so 
brilliant  in  the  festive  scene,  ere  yet  untrodden  by 
the  armed  heel  of  the  ruthless  Saxon?  Or  dost 
thou  weep  in  thy  desolation  for  thy  dark-eyed  sons, 
whose  godlike  brows  are  bowed  down,  and  whose 
cheeks  pale  beneath  the  yoke  of  the  stranger  ?  Oh, 
Garibaldi  !  hero  of  the  lion  heart,  how  long 
wilt  thou  leave  her  in  her  anguish,  a  slave  amid 
slaves ! 

Fairy-like  and  unreal  appeared  that  city  to  us,  and 
yet  so  like  my  young  imaginings,  that  I  sometimes 
doubted  whether  I  actually  beheld  fair  Venice  with 
my  waking  eyes.  Those  hearse-like  gondolas,  how 
silently  do  they  thread  the  streets ;  only  the  cease- 
less plash  of  the  water  is  heard  on  the  steps  of  the 
palaces — now,  alas  !  crumbling  into  ruins.  Look- 


FOREIGN   TRAVEL.  76 

ing  on  the  Piazza  di  San  Marco,  I  could  not  divest 
myself  of  the  idea  that  I  beheld  a  scene  at  the  ope- 
ra— there  was  the  Basilico,  the  costumes,  the  moon- 
light— all  that  I  had  seen  so  frequently  portrayed  at 
Co  vent  Garden,  and  her  Majesty's  theatre.  Nor 
was  music  wanting  to  complete  the  illusion.  Airs 
from  Marino  Faliero,  Othello,  and  other  ^familiar 
strains,  were  played  by  the  Austrian  band;  and  as 
we  sipped  our  coffee,  or  ate  our  ices,  seated  under 
the  trees  in  this  beautiful  piazza,  Evelyn  would  de- 
clare that  it  was  not  possible  to  live  at  Venice  with- 
out an  Amoroso,  and  even  my  old  maidhood 
confessed  that  the  softly  voluptuous  breezes,  the 
dream-like  beauty  of  the  city,  the  seclusion  of  the 
gondolas — all  spake  to  the  fancy,  of  love,  mystery, 
and  romance. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

FLORENCE. 

SUMMER  had  now  given  place  to  Autumn,  with  its 
treasures  of  corn  and  wine  ;  not  that  pallid  season, 
half-summer,  half-winter,  of  our  more  northern 
climes — but  the  glowing  Autumn  of  Italy,  when 
the  purple  clusters  of  grapes  hang  pendent  from  the 
trellised  arbor  of  vine-leaves  over-head  ;  when  the 
orange  groves  are  fragrant  with  their  golden  fruit, 
and  the  luscious  fig  and  dark  olive  grove  invite  the 
traveller  to  refreshment  and  repose. 

On  quitting  Yenice,  we  had  decided  on  retracing 
our  steps,  in  order  to  visit  the  cities  we  had  not  yet 
seen.  From  Genoa  we  followed  the  beautiful  coast 
road  to  Pisa,  whence  we  took  rail  to  Florence, 
arriving  there  towards  the  latter  part  of  Septem- 
ber. We  thus  had  time  to  visit  the  various  galle- 
ries and  artistic  curiosities  of  the  city  of  the  Medici, 
previously  to  the  commencement  of  the  fashionable 
season,  when  Florence  is  usually  thronged  with 


FLORENCE.  77 

strangers.  We  engaged  a  fine  apartment — "  primo 
piano" — (first  floor)  on  the  Lungo  L'Arno,  consid- 
ered the  best  situation  by  strangers,  though  not  by 
the  Florentines  themselves,  who  call  it  unhealthy. 
Nor  are  they  wrong — for  the  Arno,  like  the  Tiber, 
is  a  yellow,  dirty  stream,  unpoetic  to  the  eye,  and 
frequently  most  unsavory  to  another  sense.  Florence 
nevertheless  well  deserves  her  name  of  "  La  bella." 
The  town  is  built  on  either  side  of  the  river,  which 
is  spanned  by  five  exquisitely  light  and  well  pro- 
portioned bridges,  each  of  which  differs  in  the  style 
of  its  architecture  from  the  others.  These  bridges 
unite  the  two  cities  as  it  were  into  one.  As  is  usual, 
one  side  of  the  river  monopolizes  the  rank  and  fash- 
ion of  Florence,  although  the  grand  ducal  palace  of 
Pitti  is  situate  on  its  opposite  and  quieter  border. 
Our  first  visit  was  of  course  to  the  "Palazzo  d'egli 
Uffigiis,"  to  view  the  celebrated  Venus  de  Medi- 
cis.  We  expected  much,  and  were  therefore  of 
course  disappointed.  The  figure  is  artistically 
perfect  ;  perhaps  this  very  perfection  causes  the 
effect  to  be  cold  and  unsympathetic.  The  face,  too, 
is  entirely  without  expression.  She  resembles  ra- 
ther a  young  nymph  of  Diana  than  the  goddess  of 
love  and  beauty,  whose  voluptuous  charms  are  far 
better  portrayed  in  the  statue  called  the  Yenus  of 


T8  FLOEENCE. 

the   Capitol  in  Eome — infinitely  superior,  in  my 
opinion,  to  her  Florentine  sister. 

At  the  Pitti  Palace,  we  spent  hours  wrapped  in 
silent  contemplation  before  that  superhuman  paint- 
ing, the  divine  Madonna  della  Seggiola  of  Raphael 
Sanzio.  Most  of  my  readers  will  be  familiar  with 
the  copies  of  this  picture,  but  these,  one  and  all 
will  give  them  but  a  very  imperfect  idea  of  the  ori- 
ginal, which  cannot  be  reproduced.  The  features 
and  complexion  may,  it  is  true,  be  copied — but 
who  but  the  immortal  Raphael  could  represent 
the  infinitely  tender  and  happy,  yet  half  wondering 
look  of  the  young  mother,  as  she  clasps  that  myste- 
rious Babe  to  her  virgin  breast !  Who  but  he  might 
portray  those  dove-like  eyes,  welling  over  with  ma- 
ternal love?  Yerily  it  was  given  to  that  wondrous 
poet-painter  alone  to  reveal  to  mortal  sight  the 
spotless  Mary,  who  "  kept  all  these  tilings,  and 
pondered  them  in  her  heart."  And  even  he  must 
have  used  as  his  brush  a  plume  fresh  plucked  from, 
an  angel's  wing,  all  bright  and  glowing  with  the 
hues  of  Paradise.  Observe,  too,  the  look  of 
thought,  far  beyond  his  years,  which  almost  casts 
the  shadow  of  coming  sorrow  over  the  baby  brow 
of  that  divine  Infant.  Genius,  highest  gift  of  hea- 
ven I  how  glorious  are  thy  works ! — how  godlike 
thy  mission  upon  earth  ! 


FLOBENOE.  79 

Strangers  were  now  fast  pouring  into  Florence, 
and  the  winter  was  expected  to  be  unusually  bril- 
liant. Col.  Melville  arrived,  and  became  the  con- 
stant companion  of  our  walks  and  drives,  and  a 
welcome  guest  at  our  dinner  table.  Evelyn  treated 
him  kindly — at  times  almost  as  an  accepted  lover, 
whilst  at  others  she  appeared  to  weary  of  his  socie- 
ty, and  to  long  for  change  and  excitement.  High- 
ly fitted  to  shine  in  the  salon,  and  passionately  fond 
of  amusement,  our  heroine  had  never,  as  yet,  been 
able  fully  to  gratify  her  taste  for  the  world,  which, 
from  the  very  novelty  of  its  pleasures  to  her,  now 
became  her  idol.  An  all-engrossing  affection,  it 
may  be  imagined,  like  that  of  Melville,  rather  net- 
tled and  annoyed  her  ;  she  hated  restraint,  desired 
to  be  uncontrolled  mistress  of  iier  actions,  to  dance 
when  and  with  whom  she  pleased,  and  to  accept  the 
homage  of  the  favored  few.  I  will  do  her  the  jus- 
tice to  say  she  never  cared  to  attract  the  notice  of 
the  million,  and  had  a  perfect  horror  of  the  street 
admiration  so  usual  on  the  Continent. 

Melville  was  jealous.  He  could  not  view  with 
calmness  the  smiles  of  the  lady  of  his  love  lavished 
on  another.  He  would  leave  the  room — perhaps 
the  house — and  not  return,  till  a  small,  rose-colored 
missive  would  once  again  recall  him  to  the  side  of 
his  fair  tormentor. 


80  FLORENCE. 

With  all  this,  Evelyn  was  not  a  deliberate  co- 
quette. She  admired  and  esteemed  Melville,  and 
appreciated  his  devotion  with  her  whole  heart — but 
unhappily  she  fell  into  that  fatal  mistake  common  to 
beauties,  that  affection  such  as  his,  is  of  every 
day  occurrence,  and  to  be  considered  merely  as  the 
meed  due  to  her  charms.  How  frequently  do  the 
lovely  of  our  sex  thus  make  shipwreck  of  their  hap- 
piness, not  knowing  how  very  few  are  capable  of 
feeling  the  true  sentiment  of  love,  and  how  priceless 
therefore  is  the  heart  of  an  honorable  man.  Alas  ! 
in  bitter  suffering,  and  with  tears  of  blood,  do  they 
expiate  their  supreme  folly  ! — they  then,  when  too 
late,  perceive  how  they  have  flung  away  the  purest 
gold  for  mere  tinsel,  and  now  they  must  starve  for 
the  want  of  that  bread  of  life  which  can  alone  sat- 
isfy the  famished  heart,  and  which  that  once  despis- 
ed gold  would  have  purchased. 

The  plain  woman  is  wiser.  She  does  not  trample 
on  the  heart  that  loves  her ;  and  thus  her  lot  is  fre- 
quently a  brighter  one  than  that  of  her  fairer, 
though  less  fortunate  sister,  doomed  to  mourn  in 
silence  and  loneliness  the  neglected  happiness  of 
the  past. 

What  would  that  weary  one  now  give  for  one 
glance,  in  which  soul  answers  to  soul — for  one  word 
uttered  even  in  reproach,  by  lips  which,  in  the  past, 


FLORENCE.  81 

breathed  but  tenderness  and  love?  Alas,  alas! — it 
is  too  late — too  late — and  the  haughty  and  once- 
petted  beauty  is  forever  alone  with  the  spectre  of 
by-gone  days ! 

Like  all  women  who  have  been  accustomed  to  much 
attention  from  the  opposite  sex,  Evelyn  looked  for 
impossibilities.  The  future  husband  her  fancy 
painted,  was  to  unite  high  station  and  wealth,  and 
every  advantage  of  mind  and  person,  with,  of 
course,  a  heart  entirely  devoted  to  her.  "That 
love,"  says  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Norton,  in  her  beau- 
tiful and  romantic  novel,  "Stuart  of  Dunleith," 
"  which  at  once  satisfies  the  soul,  the  intellect,  the 
heart  and  the  senses,  is  met  with  once,  and  once 
only  in  life."  I  quote  from  memory,  and  conse- 
quently express  the  sentiments  of  the  gifted  author 
in  my  own  words.  But,  is  it  so  ?  I  think  not. 
Perfect  happiness  is  not  to  be  found  on  earth; 
therefore,  let  my  lady  readers  be  content,  if  they 
meet  one  who  unites  three — aye,  even  two  of  these 
requisites,  combined  with  sincere  attachment  — 
let  her  not  then  despise  her  lover,  but  rather  wear 
him  in  her  heart  of  hearts. 

The  grand  ducal  court  of  Florence  was,  at  the 
time  we  were  there,  one  of  the  pleasantest  and  most 
aristocratic  reunions  of  aristocratic  Europe.  Any 
stranger,  once  presented  there  by  his  minister,  was 


82  FLOKENCE. 

invited  to  all  the  balls,  concerts,  and  receptions 
which  were  given  weekly  through  the  entire  winter 
season. 

The  Grand  Duke  Leopold,  a  most  excellent  old 
man,  and  greatly  beloved  by  a  large  circle  of  the 
nobility,  was  adored  by  the  poor,  whose  sick-beds 
he  frequently  visited  in  person.  The  Grand  Duch- 
ess, his  consort,  a  Princess  of  Naples,  though  much 
younger  than  her  husband,  had  ever  borne  a  per- 
fectly unblemished  reputation.  Her  imperial  high- 
ness was  a  remarkably  tine  woman,  with  the  most 
beautifully-formed  shoulders  I  ever  beheld.  She 
was  most  gracious,  and  at  the  same  time  dignified 
in  her  manners,  and  always  had  a  kind  and  affable 
word  for  the  ladies  whom  she  recognized  as  fre- 
quent attendants  at  her  receptions. 

The  youthful  imperial  family  were  worthy  of 
their  royal  parents.  The  two  elder  Arch-Dukes, 
although  mere  boys,  were  distinguished  in  the  ball- 
room for  their  graceful  and  amiable  manners,  and 
for  their  skill  in  the  dance,  of  which  they  were  pas. 
sionately  fond,  as  is  usual  with  youths  of  their  age. 
The  heir-apparent  had  lately  brought  home  his 
young  and  beautiful  bride,  a  Princess  of  Saxony. 
Alas !  who  could  have  imagined,  in  a  few  short 
years,  that  lovely  girl  would  be  laid  in  an  early 
grave  1 — this  august  family  would  be  forever  exiled 


FLORFJTCE.  83 

from  their  native  soil !  Even  now,  I  see  the  poor 
old  man ;  his  white  hairs,  powerless  to  protect  him 
from  insult,  bowed  down  with  sorrow — yet  strug-' 
gling  manfully  with  his  grief,  in  order  to  console 
his  weeping  consort,  Grand  Duchess — now  in  name 
only.  I  see  the  faithful  guardia  nobile  press  around 
the  carriages,  to  spare  the  beloved  and  venerated 
family  the  gibes  and  sneers  of  the  ladies  (women 
are  ever  the  most  cruel)  who  had  so  frequently  par- 
taken of  their  sovereign's  hospitality,  but  who 
now  were  congregated  at  the  gate  of  the  city,  to 
smile  at  a  misfortune  which,  however  possible 
its  ultimate  benefits  to  Italy,  had  fallen  on  inno- 
cent heads. 

The  government  of  Leopold  of  Tuscany  was 
almost  of  too  paternal  a  character.  There  were 
literally  no  police.  I  never  heard  of  any  spies ; 
and  the  obnoxious  Austrian  soldiers  had  long  been 
sent  back  to  their  own  country.  Why  the  Floren- 
tines preferred  their  country  being  turned  into  a 
province  of  Piedmont,  and  governed  by  a  Viceroy, 
instead  of  remaining  an  independent  State,  I  am  at 
a  loss  to  imagine ;  nor  can  I  make  out  wherefore 
they  disliked  their  excellent  Sovereign  and  his 
amiable  family.  No  good  has,  for  the  present,  re- 
sulted from  their  bloodless  revolution.  Let  us, 
however,  hope  the  day  may  dawn,  which  will  see 


FLOBENCE. 


fair  Italy  once  more  a  nation,  united  under  one 
head.  Then,  perhaps,  Florence  herself  may  derive 
the  benefit  she  has  not  yet  reaped  from  her  change 
of  rulers. 


CHAPTEK  X. 

COQTTETBY. 

ALL  Florence  was  talking  of  the  Bed  Costume  to 
be  given  at  the  Casino  de'  Nobili  to  H.  B.  H.  the 
Count  of  Syracuse,  a  Neapolitan  Prince,  brother  to 
the  Grand  Duchess,  and  at  present  on  a  visit  to  his 
Imperial  sister  at  the  Palazzo  Pitti.  The  ladies  were 
endeavoring  each  to  outvie  the  other  in  the  nov- 
elty and  richness  of  their  costumes.  The  Grand  Ducal 
family  were  to  represent  their  ancient  predecessors  on 
the  throne  of  Florence,  the  rich  and  princely  family 
of  Medici.  The  notorious  and  once  lovely  Lady 
C F ,  it  was  known  would  appear  as  Pomo- 
na, her  dress  to  be  looped  up  with  bunches  of  fruit 
interspersed  with  diamonds,  to  represent  the  dew. 
A  beautiful  Florentine  duchess,  it  was  whispered, 
would  personify  the  "  Queen  of  Hearts ;"  but  so 
well  did  her  modiste  keep  the  secret  that  none  could 
guess  either  the  fashion  or  color  of  her  robe,  which 
proves  that  women  can  be  trusted,  at  least  in  so  iin- 


86  COQUETRY. 

portant  an  affair  as  that  of  the  toilette.  Counting 
on  her  fresh  beauty,  and  conscious  that  she  could 
not  hope  to  oat-blaze  her  fair  rivals  in  jewelry, 
Evelyn  wisely  preferred  to  be  unique  in  the  sim- 
plicity of  her  costume.  She  therefore  chose  the  be- 
coming dress  of  a  peasant  girl  of  Frascati,  in  the 
environs  of  Rome.  Her  corset  of  cherry-colored 
velvet,  laced  over  a  chemisette  of  plaited  muslin, 
displayed  to  advantage  the  rounded  waist  and  per- 
fectly modelled  shoulders.  The  full  petticoat  of  blue 
silk  trimmed  with  rows  of  ribbon  to  match  the  cor- 
eage,  just  cleared  the  well-turned  ancle,  and  fully 
discovered  the  little  Spanish  foot  with  its  arched 
instep.  The  hair,  wrapped  around  the  head,  was 
fastened  in  a  rich  knot  by  two  pins  of  diamond,  and 
one  large  brilliant  clasped  the  narrow  band  of  red 
velvet  which  encircled  her  throat.  The  peasant's 
apron,  and  bows  of  ribbon  of  blue  and  silver  com- 
pleted a  costume  in  which  the  wearer  looked  scarce- 
ly more  than  eighteen.  I  accompanied  my  friend 
en  Marquise,  as  this  required  but  little  exercise 
of  the  fancy,  in  which  (as  regards  dress)  I  am  lament- 
ably deficient.  Colonel  Melville  (whose  leave  ex- 
pired very  shortly),  was  to  wear  the  uniform  of  his 
corps,  and  to  meet  us  at  the  ball. 

Evelyn's  toilette  was  a  decided  success ;  a  mur- 
mur of  admiration  accompanied  us  as  we  threaded 


COQUETRY.  87 

our  way  through  the  brilliant  crowd  of  officers  and 
gaily  attired  young  nobles  who  thronged  the  vesti- 
bule and  ante-rooms  of  the  building..  After  some 
difficulty  we  succeeded  in  reaching  the  upper  end 
of  the  ball  room,  where  on  a  slightly  elevated  dais 
were  seated  the  Imperial  family.  The  Grand  Duch- 
ess, as  the  celebrated  Catharine  de  Medicis  in  a 
magnificent  costume  of  the  middle  ages,  was  liter- 
ally one  blaze  of  jewels.  On  perceiving  Evelyn — 
who  was  rather  a  favorite — she  beckoned  her  to  ap- 
proach, and  graciously  complimented  her  on  the 
good  taste  and  simplicity  of  her  attire.  The  Count 
Syracuse,  who  was  a  great  admirer  of  beauty,  then 
stepped  forward  and  engaged  the  pretty  Frascatana 
for  a  quadrille.  The  Prince,  who,  though  somewhat 
stout,  was  a  remarkably  fine  looking  man,  appeared 
to  the  utmost  advantage  as  Lorenzo  de  Medicis.-^ 
His  extremely  fascinating  manners,  together  with 
his  exalted  rank,  rendered  him  (if  report  speak 
true)  almost  irresistible  with  the  female  sex.  But 
he  was  by  no  means  a  constant  lover ;  he  might 
with  truth  say,  with  a  celebrated  French  roue : 
"  Moi  je  suisfidele  a  tout  le  monrfe." 

The  count  devoted  himself  to  his  "Cynthia  of  the 
minute,"  and  scarcely  left  her  side,  much  to  the  dis- 
gust and  envy  of  many  a  noble  signora,  who  longed 
in  vain  for  even  one  glance  of  passing  admiration 


COQUETRY. 

from  the  illustrious  Don  Giovanni,  who  had  no  eye8 
but  for  his  simple  Zerlina.  Evelyn  gave  herself  up 
to  the  intoxication  of  gratified  vanity,  and  appeared 
to  be  as  much  charmed  with  her  royal  cavalier  as 
he  was  taken  with  her.  Had  not  the  prince  been  a 
married  man,  I  believe  she  would  have  aspired  even 
to  an  alliance  with  royalty,  for  the  recent  choice 
of  the  French  Emperor  had  contributed  to  turn  the 
head  of  many  a  beauty.  As  it  was,  to  permit  such 
marked  attention  from  a  Prince,  whose  suc- 
cess with  ladies  was  proverbial,  could  not  but  be 
detrimental  to  a  virtuous  woman's  reputation.  Thus 
reflecting,  I  turned  to  seek  Melville.  Poor  fellow  ! 
he  was  leaning  against  a  fluted  column  the  very 
statue  of  despair.  In  his  expressive  countenance 
you  might  see  depicted  all  the  tortures  of  jealousy 
ahd  mortified  pride.  I  advanced  towards  him  and 
touched  his  elbow.  He  started  as  from  a  dream, 
made  a  few  polite  and  common-place  observations, 
and  before  I  could  speak  a  word,  had  vanished  from 
the  room.  I  still  thought  he  would  return,  as  was 
his  wont,  to  escort  us  to  the  refreshment  table,  for 
Evelyn's  Italian  adorers  were  usually  too  intently 
occupied  in  discussing  the  excellent  supper  and 
wines  provided  by  their  royal  host,  to  have  time  to 
attend  to  the  wants  of  any  fair  lady. 

The  Count  Syracuse  was  forced  to  accompany 


COQUETRY.  89 

the  Imperial  party  to  supper.  He  therefore  brought 
his  lovely  partner  all  glowing  with  the  triumphs 
and  excitement  of  the  dance  to  my  side.  Ev- 
elyn passed  her  arm  within  mine. 

"  Let  us  seek  Reginald  Melville,"  said  she,  "  you 
will  doubtless  be  glad  of  some  refreshment." 

"Ah !  dear  Evelyn,"  I  replied,  "  I  fear  your  im- 
prudent coquetry  has  caused  much  suffering  to- 
night." 

"He  is  foolish  to  be  BO  jealous,"  replied  she; 
"  does  he  wish  me  to  speak  to  no  one,  and  to  make 
myself  disagreeable  in  society  ?" 

"  But  to  remain  so  long  with  one  man,"  I  remon- 
strated. 

"  Oh  !  a  Prince,  you  know ;  how  could  1  refuse  ? 
Indeed,  Melville  is  most  unreasonably  exacting,  and 
you  encourage  him.  I  should  detest  so  jealous  a 
husband.  No  ;  if  he  cannot  bear  to  see  a  woman 
admired,  let  him  choose  a  plain  wife." 

Her  levity  vexed  me,  for  I  could  not  imagine  a 
pleasure  that  necessarily  entailed  pain  upon  others. 
But  then,  remember,  I  am  not  a  beauty. 

We  sought  Melville  in  every  room ;  he  was  no- 
where to  be  found.  Evelyn  was  evidently  piqued ; 
she  became  distraite,  and  answered  at  random  the 
various  compliments  and  observations  addressed  to 
her.  She  refused  all  invitations  to  dance,  and  had 


90  COQUETRY. 

Melville  now  seen  her,  the  destiny  of  two  lives  might 
have  been  changed.  How  often  do  we  of  the  weak- 
er sex  wrap  ourselves  in  our  woman's  pride  and 
carefully  conceal  our  true  feelings  from  the  being 
we  respect  and  esteem  most  upon  earth.  How  fre- 
quently even  in  our  moments  of  apparent  cruelty 
and  caprice  do  we  in  the  depth  of  our  soul  resolve 
one  day  by  the  devotion  of  a  life  to  make  full  and 
ample  amends  for  the  momentary  pangs  we  may 
have  caused !  Thrice  happy  they  who  may  be  per- 
mitted to  put  these  good  resolves  into  practice  ere 
it  be  too  late. 

We  remained  but  a  short  time  at  the  now  distaste- 
ful ball.  On  the  morrow  Evelyn  had  a  nervous 
headache  and  kept  her  room.  Although  she  had 
given  orders  that  no  one  was  to  be  admitted,  I  per- 
ceived her  look  of  disappointment  when  the  name 
of  Colonel  Melville  was  missing  from  the  pile  of 
cards  and  notes  brought  by  her  maid  in  the  evening 
to  her  bedside. 

The  following  day,  being  quite  restored,  she 
arose  and  dressed  with  more  than  usual  care 
and  good  taste.  I  saw  that  she  expected  Melville 
would  call,  that  being  his  last  day  in  Florence,  and 
I  doubted  not  that  when  he  came  all  would  go  well 
— and  I  might  have  to  congratulate  two  happy 
affianced  lovers.  Evelyn  was  restless  and  abstract- 


COQUETRY.  91 

ed.  She  tried  to  sing,  but  was  out  of  voice ;  she 
took  up  a  book,  but  did  not  get  farther  than  the 
title-page ;  her  eyes  wandered  perpetually  towards 
the  French  pendule  on  the  mantel-piece  ;  at  last 
she  rose  impatiently,  and  stated  her  intention  of 
driving  to  the  Cascines,  that  loveliest  of  promen- 
ades, unsurpassed  even  by  the  far-famed  "  Bois  de 
Boulogne." 

At  that  moment  there  was  a  loud  ring  at  the 
entrance  door  of  the  apartment.  My  heart  beat  in 
sympathy  with  that  of  Evelyn,  who  turned  pale  as 
death.  The  servant  did  not  at  once  answer  the 
door — five  long  minutes  of  suspense,  and  the  ring 
was  again  repeated.  At  length  the  door  was  open- 
ed. A  manly  step  was  heard,  and  H.  R.  H.  the 
Count  of  Syracuse  entered. 

Evelyn  trembled  visibly,  but  mastered  her  emo- 
tion, and  received  her  royal  visitor  with  graceful 
dignity.  Though  I  perceived  the  Prince  greatly 
desired  my  absence,  I  thought  it  wiser  to  remain 
with  my  friend,  whose  agitation  I  feared  might  be 
interpreted  too  favorably. 

About  ten  minutes  after  the  Prince's  arrival,  ano- 
ther ring  at  the  bell  was  heard.  This  time  a  well- 
known  voice  en  quired — 

"  Is  Mrs.  Travers  at  home  ?" 

A  short  colloquy  with  the  servant  followed,   and 


»a  COQUETKY. 

we  heard  the  door  of  the  apartment  closed.  I  look- 
ed towards  Evelyn.  Her  vexation  was  so  evident 
that  the  Prince  asked  if  she  were  ill.  I  was  obliged 
to  come  to  the  rescue — and  declared,  with  truth, 
that  she  had  kept  her  room  the  preceding  day,  and 
was  scarcely  sufficiently  recovered  to  do  the  honors 
to  His  Koyal  Highness. 

The  Count  took  the  hint,  and  paid  us  that  time 
but  a  short  visit.  The  moment  he  had  quitted,  the 
servant  brought  in  on  a  small  waiter,  Col.  Mel- 
ville's card,  with  P.  P.  C.  in  the  corner.  We  ques- 
tioned the  man — 

"  Did  the  Colonel  say  he  would  call  again  ?" 

"No,  signora." 

"  Did  he  state  when  he  was  leaving  ?" 

"No,  signora." 

"Well  then,  what  did  he  say?"  I  exclaimed, 
wishing  to  spare  Evelyn  the  pain  of  asking. . 

"The  Colonel  asked  if  the  signora  was  alone.  I 
told  him  Sna.  Altezza  Reale  was  with  the  signora. 
The  signore  then  said,  Give  this  card  to  the  signora. 
That  is  all,  ladies." 

It  was  then  near  five,  the  hour  of  departure 
of  the  train.  The  servant  was  sent  to  inquire  if 
the  Colonel  left  that  evening.  He  returned  with 
the  message— "11  ColoneUoe  partito gid"— "the  Co- 
lonel is  already  gone." 


COQUETRY.  93 

Evelyn's  disappointment  turned  to  anger.  Her 
pride  was  offended,  and  she  determined  to  punish 
Melville  by  encouraging  the  visits  of  her  Royal  ad- 
mirer— a  very  dangerous  game ! 

"  For  slander's  mark  was  ever  yet  the  fair, 
The  ornament  of  beauty  is  suspect, 
A  crow  that  flies  in  heaven's  sweetest  air." 

Her  charms  and  success  had  made  our  heroine 
many  enemies,  especially  among  her  own  sex,  and 
envious  tongues  were  busy  with  her  fair  fame.  She 
was  termed  a  heartless  jilt,  and  her  conduct  to- 
wards Melville  was  commented  on  in  the  severest 
terms. 

In  Italy  no  woman  ought  to  permit  any  marked 
attention  from  one  of  the  opposite  sex,  if  she  would 
preserve  an  unblemished  reputation.  The  innocent 
frankness  of  my  countrywomen,  and  of  the  Ameri- 
can ladies,  is  liable  to  be  sadly  misconstrued  by 
the  idle  and  languid  Italian  "  lions,"  who  lounge 
away  their  time  at  the  doors  of  the  different  cafes, 
and  discuss  the  appearance  and  character  of  the  la- 
dies, as  they  pass  in  their  carriages  toward  the 
Lungo  L'Arno  and  Cascines. 

Evelyn,  whose  conduct  had  been,  and  still  was, 
most  indiscreet,  being,  moreover,  without  a  pro- 
tector, was  especially  the  mark  for  scandal.  Wo- 
men who  would  have  given  the  world  to  have 


94:  COQUETRY. 

been  able  to  do  as  she  did,  were  the  first  to  blame 
her  imprudence  ;  and  the  young  Florentine  exquis- 
ites, who  had  never  yet  succeeded  in  winning  a  smile 
from  "  la  bella  Inglese"  now  invented  all  kinds  of 
cruel  and  false  reports  concerning  her.  The  fre- 
quent visits  of  the  Count  Syracuse  were  reported 
to  the  Grand  Duchess,  who  henceforth  looked  cold- 
ly upon  Evelyn,  and  the  ladies  of  society  were  only 
too  happy  to  have  it  in  their  power  to  mortify  one 
who  had  excited  their  jealousy.  And  Melville,  too 
— the  good,  the  kind,  the  loving — had  he  also  de- 
serted the  woman  he  once  held  so  dear  ?  The  next 
chapter  may  perhaps  throw  some  light  on  this  sub- 
ject. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

FIRST      LOVE. 

COLONEL   REGINALD   MELVILLE  TO    EVELYN   TKAVER8. 
London,  February  28th. 

BEFORE  you  receive  this,  Evelyn,  I  shall  be  far 
away ;  it  may,  perhaps,  cost  you  one  pang  in  the 
midst  of  your  triumphs,  to  know  that  we  are  at  last 
parted  ;  it  may  be  for  years — it  may  be  forever. 

My  regiment  is  under  immediate  orders  for  India, 
and  we  sail  in  a  week.  We  are  required  to  quell 
the  Sepoy  rebellion,  and  to  avenge  the  horrible  bru- 
talities perpetrated  by  those  savages  on  our  inno- 
cent countrywomen  and  their  helpless  babes.  I 
will  not,  at  this  supreme  moment,  reproach  you — 
your  naturally  good  heart  will  teach  you  how  far 
you  have  erred — but  I  will  simply  mention  how 
deeply  I  felt  your  inconsiderate  conduct  at  the  last 
ball,  when  you  knew  that,  in  two  days,  one  who 
loved  you  as  his  own  soul  must  leave ;  and  how 
still  more  bitterly  was  I  disappointed  at  having  been 


96  FIRST   LOVE. 

prevented  by  the  prince's  presence  from  bidding  ^m 
a  last  adieu. 

You  are  very  beautiful  and  talented.  It  is  natu- 
ral you  should  command  attention  wherever  you 
go.  But,  oh !  Evelyn,  does  this  satisfy  your  heart  ? 
Ask  yourself,  are  you  not  sometimes  unhappy,  even 
amid  the  most  brilliant  scenes  ?  Do  not  imagine 
that  every  fop  who  approaches  you,  is  capable  of 
sincere  attachment,  even  to  a  creature  as  fasci- 
nating as  yourself.  You  are,  to  the  majority  of 
men,  but  as  the  pastime  of  an  idle  hour — or  worse, 
the  coquette  whose  smiles  flatter  their  selfish  vanity, 
and  of  whose  favors  they  boast  at  the  public  prom- 
enades or  the  cafes.  But  of  this  I  cannot  bear  to 
speak — even  the  thought  is  madness. 

It  is  true,  alas  !  that  I  dare  not  hope  that  one  so 
gifted  and  so  adored,  will  await  the  uncertainties 
of  war,  and  mourn,  in  some  retired  corner  of  the 
earth,  the  absence  of  a  future  husband.  No,  Eve- 
lyn— I  deeply  feel  the  vanity  of  entertaining  such  a 
hope,  even  for  a  moment.  I  know,  too  well,  you 
will  meet  those  who  will  hang  on  each  word,  and 
watch  every  look,  as  I  have  done.  You  will  never 
forget  me  ;  but  I  shall  share  your  heart  with  others. 
It  is  for  this,  therefore,  that  I  am  resolved,  'cost  what 
it  will,  and  at  the  risk  of  breaking  my  heart, 
to  utter  this  fatal  word — Farewell,  then,  beloved  of 


LOVE.  97 

my  soul — my  first,  my  only  love — you  are  free. 
Think  of  me,  henceforth,  as  a  tender  brother.  I 
will  ever  cherish  you  as  a  sister.  For  your  own 
sake,  and  that  of  your  dear  Ella,  be  prudent; 
remember  that  a  woman's  name  should  never  even 
be  breathed  upon. 

One  more  effort — one  more  bitter  pang,  and  my 
self-imposed  duty  is  done.  If  ever  my  sweet  sister 
should  find  one  who  loves  her  as  I  do — but  who, 
unlike  poor  Melville,  approaches  near  to  the  stand- 
ard of  perfection  she  has  erected  in  her  own  imagi- 
nation— then,  dearest,  do  not  hesitate  to  become  his 
wife.  My  prayers  shall  ever  be  offered  up  for  your 
happiness ;  and  you,  my  ever-beloved  Evelyn,  will 
not,  even  in  the  midst  of  that  bliss,  refuse — if  I 
fall — to  drop  a  tear  for  one  who  would  die  to  save 
you  even  one  moment's  uneasiness.  Farewell — 
farewell!  B.  M. 

EVELYN   TEAVERS   TO   REGINALD   MELVILLE. 

Castellamare,  Villa  des  Alberi,  6th  May. 

I  have  been  seriously  ill,  dear  Reginald,  or  you 
would  have  heard  from  me  ere  this.  I  left  Florence 
a  week  after  I  received  your  letter ;  and  the 
fatigues  of  the  journey,  added  to  the  violent  shock 
consequent  on  the  receipt  of  such  sad  news,  quite 


98  FIEST   LOVE. 

overcame  me.  I  was  taken  with  a  nervous  trem- 
bling, which  ended  in  fever.  For  two  mouths 
I  have  been  confined  to  my  room,  and  strictly  for- 
bidden to  write,  read,  or  even  to  think.  I  have, 
however,  succeeded  in  persuading  my  doctor,  that 
to  remain  alone  with  my  regrets  for  the  past  is 
retarding  indefinitely  my  recovery.  He  has,  there- 
fore, permitted  me  to  write  these  few  lines  to 
you. 

And  are  we,  then,  really  to  be  parted  forever  f 
Oh !  my  once  kind  Reginald,  why  condemn  me  to 
live  without  your  love !  I  see  at  last  the  fully  and 
madness  of  sacrificing  a  true  attachment  for  the 
heartless  and  aimless  admiration  of  the  passing 
hour.  Oh  !  how  lonely  do  I  feel  now  in  the  world — 
how  its  hollowness  wearies  me !  Sweet  Ella  even 
seems  to  reproach  my  frivolity  with  her  calm  angel 
eyes  ;  nor  can  I  endure  Mary's  face  of  grave  and  sad 
reproof. 

Reginald,  if  you  ever  loved  me,  write  and  say 
that  I  am  forgiven — tell  me  that  I  have  not  ruined 
your  happiness.  Do  not  speak  of  my  poor  attrac- 
tions. Would  that  I  were  plain,  since  my  beauty 
1ms  caused  our  separation. 

You  say  you  are  not  my  "  beau  ideal.'''  If  it  be 
true,  that  my  foolish  romantic  fancy  has  portrayed 
an  impossible  hero — at  least,  your  rare  devotion  to 


FIRST  LOVE.  99 

one  worthless  as  myself  is  the  very  "  be au  ideal " 
of  all  that  mortals  term  love.  For  this,  accept  my 
undying  gratitude. 

One  last  request — for  your  Evelyn's  sake,  be  pru- 
dent. Do  not  expose  yourself  to  danger  unnecessa- 
rily ;  and  she  will  nightly  kneel  before  the  throne 
of  grace,  and  pray  that  her  numerous  faults  and 
follies  may  rather  be  visited  on  her  own  head,  and 
that  every  blessing,  temporal  and  eternal,  may  fall 
to  the  lot  of  him  who,  though  absent,  is  forever  pre- 
sent with  his  repentant 

EVELYN. 

P.  S. — Remember,  I  shall  count  the  days,  the 
hours,  the  moments,  until  I  hear  from  you.  Do  not 
keep  me  in  suspense.  Mary  desires  kindest  regards, 
and  little  Ella  her  best  love. 

After  the  preceding  letter  was  dispatched  to  Col- 
onel Melville's  agents  for  transmission  to  India,  I 
endeavored  as  much  as  possible  to  divert  Evelyn's 
mind  from  dwelling  on  painful  subjects.  The 
state  of  her  health  was  far  from  satisfactory.  I 
therefore  used  all  my  influence  to  persuade  her  to 
enter  a  little  into  society,  as  we  calculated  no 
reply  could  possibly  come  under  three  months  from 
the  seat  of  war,  and  till  that  time  had  elapsed  anx- 
iety would  be  but  needless  self-torment.  We 


100  FIRST   LOVE. 

were  acquainted  with  an  English  family,  whose 
pretty  schooner — the  "Turquoise" — was  lying  in 
the  bay  of  Sorento.  Captain  and  Mrs.  Blake  had 
frequently  invited  us  to  make  excursions  with  them 
to  the  various  objects  of  interest  which  abound  on 
the  classic  shores  of  the  ancient  Parthenope.  "We 
had  hitherto  refused — myself  because  I  detested  the 
sea ;  Evelyn,  because  she  was  utterly  out  of  spirits. 
One  evening,  however,  our  kind  friends  came  and 
would  take  no  denial.  They  were  accompanied  by 
a  young  Sicilian  nobleman,  a  great  friend  of  Ella's, 
for  he  never  called  without  a  box  of  bonbons,  a  bas- 
ket of  fruit,  or  a  bouquet  for  the  young  lady,  whom 
he  had  named  Sorcietto,  or  "  little  Mousey."  The 
Due  di  Balzano  was  a  fine-looking  man  of  from 
twenty-eight  to  thirty  years  of  age.  Dark  as  the  very 
darkest  of  his  race,  he  possessed  an  open  coun- 
tenance, and  an  expression  beaming  with  goodness. 
Unlike  the  generality  of  his  rather  effeminate  coun- 
trymen, Balzano  was  cast  in  the  mould  of  a  Her- 
cules, and  even  in  England,  (that  land  of  splendidly 
formed  men),  he  would  have  been  remarked  for  the 
perfection  of  his  figure  and  the  grace  of  his  move- 
ments. I  remember  later  seeing  him  execute  the 
Tarentella,  or  national  dance  of  Kaples,  in  a  man- 
ner that  might  have  shamed  many  a  Terpsichorean 
star  of  the  opera. 


FIRST   LOVE.  101 

Yielding  to  Ella's  entreaties,  Evelyn  consented  to 
make  one  of  the  party,  and  arranged  on  the  follow- 
ing morning  to  drive  to  Sorento  and  there  embark 
in  our  friend's  yacht.  I  was  excused,  as  all  were 
aware  that  a  marine  excursion  was  anything  but 
a  pleasure  to  me.  It  was  proposed  first  to  visit  the 
purple  cave  of  Capri,  which  can  only  be  entered  in 
calm  weather  and  at  low  tide.  Even  then  the  vis- 
itor must  almost  recline  in  the  boat,  so  low  is  the 
entrance  to  the  cave.  When  this  difficulty  is  passed 
you  are  amply  repaid  by  the  sight  of  a  lofty  dome 
of  rock,  spanning  a  body  of  water  actually  of  the 
color  of  indigo.  Great  care  is  necessary  in  making 
the  visit  that  no  storm  is  in  prospect,  for  when  the 
waves  are  high,  the  imprudent  traveler  has  been 
unable  to  return,  sometimes  for  days,  in  consequence 
of  the  exit  to  the  cave  having  been  entirely  sub- 
merged by  the  raging  element  which  surrounds  it. 

Our  party  entered  under  favorable  auspices,  for 
the  sea  was  calm,  though  there  was  at  the  same 
time  a  ground  swell,  which  had  made  poor  Ella  very 
sea-sick,  and  obliged  her  to  be  left  on  a  sofa  in  the 
yacht.  Ella's  indisposition  gave  rise  to  a  rather 
amusing  adventure  which  I  shall  now  relate  : 

On  her  return  on  board,  Evelyn  found  the  child 
very  ill,  so  much  so  as  to  alarm  her  mother  who 


102  FIRST   LOVE. 

went  to  Captain  Blake  and  begged  him  to  put  them 
instantly  ashore. 

"  My  dear  lady,"  replied  he,  "  it  is  all  very  well 
for  you  to  talk,  but  I  know  no  landing  place  with- 
in some  hours'  sail." 

"Then,"  besought  Evelyn,  "let  us  put  back  to 
Sorento." 

"  Impossible,"  exclaimed  the  captain,  "  the  little 
wind  there  is,  is  contrary.  It  would  take  us  twelve 
hours  to  get  there." 

Just  then  di  Balzano  made  his  appearance,  and 
the  poor  mother,  in  despair,  began  in  Italian  to  ex- 
plain the  circumstances  to  him.  The  duke  in  the 
kindest  manner  reassured  Captain  Blake  as  to  the 
nature  of  the  coast,  and  informed  Evelyn  that  al- 
though he  knew  of  no  good  landing  place  near,  he 
would  gladly  escort  her  and  little  Ella  in  safety 
home  to  Castellamare.  "  But,"  he  added,  looking 
at  Evelyn,  "the  signorina  must  have  a  little  pa- 
tience, for  we  cannot  make  even  the  nearest  land- 
ing place  till  nightfall." 

Gratefully  thanking  him,  Evetyn  returned  to  her 
daughter,  who  soon  became  pacified  under  the  hope 
of  once  more  being  on  terra  firma. 

At  eight  o'clock,  true  to  his  promise,  the  Captain 
stopped  the  schooner,  a  boat  was  lowered,  and  the 
party  entered.  Balzano  held  the  sick  child  in  his 


FIRST   LOVE.  103 

arms  like  a  tender  nurse.  The  landing  was  indeed 
far  rougher  than  even  he  had  expected — it  was  a 
regular  mountain  scramble  in  the  dark.  Arrived 
at  the  summit,  Ella  and  her  mother  were  glad  to 
repose  on  the  floor  of  the  miserable  hut  appropriat- 
ed to  the  coast  guard.  On  inquiry,  they  learned 
they  were  eight  miles  from  Sorento,  the  road  thith- 
er lying  over  a  mountain  ridge,  which  must  be 
passed  on  donkeys,  ft  one  of  these  animals,  they 
were  told,  were  to  be  had  under  a  two  hours'  ride 
from  thence.  Balzano  at  once  started  in  search  of 
asses,  pressing  a  boy  into  the  service.  For  nearly 
three  hours  did  the  poor  tired  travellers  wait  in  the 
smoky  atmosphere  of  the  guard-house,  the  return 
of  their  kind  escort.  At  last  the  welcome  patter  of 
donkeys'  feet  was  heard,  and  three  sorry  beasts 
made  their  appearance.  No  time  was  lost  in  mount- 
ing. Balzano,  who  was  dressed  in  summer  costume, 
wrapped  his  plaid  around  Evelyn,  who  had  placed 
her  own  shawl  about  the  little  girl. 

The  cold  on  the  mountains  was  excessive,  the 
path  difficult,  and  there  was  no  moon.  At  about 
two  A.  M.  the  party  arrived  at  Sorento  ;  but  though 
they  knocked  loudly  at  the  doors  of  the  principal 
hotels,  no  one  would  rise  to  admit  them.  A  testy 
Englishman  only,  in  a  red  night-cap,  looked  out 
from  a  third  floor  window,  and  abused  them  in  very 


104  FIRST   LOVE. 

bad  Italian  for  disturbing  his  slumbers.  Evelyn 
getting  angry  herself,  replied  in  the  same  lan- 
guage, which  her  excitement  rendered  less  melo 
diously  correct  than  usual.  The  colloquy  greatly 
amused  her  cavalier,  who  laughed  heartily  at  the 
expense  of  the  dui  Inglese  disputing  in  bad  Italian. 

To  make  a  long  story  short,  our  friends  dismoun- 
ted, and  passed  the  night  in  an  empty  carriage,  for 
the  poor  donkeys  could  not,  or  would  not  go  a  step 
further — and  soon  after  sunrise  they  persuaded  its 
owner  to  put  horses  to  the  vehicle,  thus  arriving 
at  our  Yilla,  to  my  infinite  surprise,  at  about  six  in 
the  morning. 

The  suite  of  this  otherwise  laughable  adventure 
had  well  nigh  proved  fatal  to  poor  Balzano.  His 
kindness  and  politeness  in  giving  up  his  plaid  when 
so  thinly  clothed,  caused  a  severe  chill,  which  end- 
ed in  a  most  dangerous  attack  of  fever,  in  which 
he  nearly  lost  his  life.  A  strong  constitution,  and 
a  calm,  well-regulated  mind,  to  our  infinite  re- 
lief, enabled  our  excellent  friend  eventually  and  per- 
fectly to  recover  his  health. 


CHAPTER   XII. 


WE  had  calculated  to  a  nicety  the  possible  time 
in  which  we  could  receive  a  letter  from  Reginald 
Melville,  taking  into  consideration  the  accidents  of 
wind  and  water  at  sea,  and  the  delays  and  uncer- 
tainties on  land ;  but,  at  length,  the  time  had 
arrived  when  each  day  was  a  continued  torture. 
Ah  !  which  of  us  do  not  remember,  at  some  time  of 
our  lives,  the  dreadful  alternations  of  sickly  hope 
and  bitter  disappointment  we  have  experienced  in 
waiting  for  that  letter  so  long  delayed  ?  Each 
morning,  as  we  arose,  we  have  said  to  ourselves — • 
"  To-day  it  will  surely  come."  How  we  watch  the 
clock !  We  are  quite  relieved  to  hear  it  is  ten  min- 
utes too  fast:  the  ten  minutes  pass — another  five 
also,  and  we  send  down  to  know  if  the  postman  is 
late  to-day.  We  are  somewhat  consoled  to  hear 
that  he  is  occasionally  even  later.  How  our  heart 
beats  as  we  see  him  turn  the  corner :  how  dread- 


106  DEATH. 

fully  slow  he  walks.  He  stops  to  speak  to  some 
one.  Oh  I  will  he  never  cease  talking  ?  We  feel 
tempted  to  fly  down  and  relieve  our  insupportable 
anxiety ;  but  a  horrible  fear  we  will  not  confess  to 
ourselves  freezes  us  into  stone.  No,  better  wait — it 
can  be  but  a  few  moments.  The  postman  goes  to 
the  house  near  by.  Happy  inmates  !  One,  two- 
yes,  three  letters  for  them.  At  length  he  ap- 
proaches—will he  pass  by?  No,  he  stops.  Two 
letters.  "We  feel  that  we  shall  faint,  if  they  are  not 
brought  up  at  once  ;  yet  we  dare  not  go  to  meet 
them.  Five  minutes,  which  seem  an  eternity,  and 
the  servant  enters  with  the  letters.  How  sick  we 
turn — IT  is  not  there  !  And  this  torment  we  must 
undergo  daily,  till  a  kind  Providence  guides  that 
long-desired  letter  to  our  hands — too  often,  when 
it  comes,  the  bearer  of  ill-tidings,  of  change,  of  sick- 
ness, of  death.  Poor  mortals  1  Cruel,  indeed,  were 
our  destiny,  did  not  the  glimpse  of  a  happier  mor- 
row brighten  for  us  the  deep  shadows  which  en- 
velope the  tomb ! 

Ella,  though  a  mere  child  in  years,  shared  the 
anxiety  of  her  mother  with  almost  womanly  tender- 
ness. My  little  god-daughter  was  a  most  interest- 
ing girl,  bhe  was  now  about  eleven  years  of  age, 
and  bore  the  promise  of  remarkable  loveliness.  Like 
her  mother  in  regularity  of  feature,  she  was  still  of 


DEATH.  107 

quite  a  different  style  of  beauty.     Her  complexion 
was  of  that  transparent  fairness  which  an  artist  in  or- 
der to  copy  would  tinge  with  a  bine  shade.  Her  hair, 
of  the  color  called  in  France  blond   cendre,   fell  in 
rich  wavy  masses  to  her  waist.     To  a  casual  observ- 
er Ella  might  appear  calm — almost  cold  ;  but  we 
knew  her  to  possess  intense  feeling  beyond  her  years. 
The  child  had  been  suffering  from  slight  fever, 
and  was  but  just  convalescent.     We  had  removed 
to  Naples,  to  procure    better  medical   advice.    It 
was  now  the  month  of  November;  yet  the  air  was 
balmy  as  in  the  first  days  of  Spring.   Ella  reclined  on 
a  couch  near  the  window  ;  her  mother,  seated  near, 
passed  l^pr  hand  fondly  over  the  splendid  hair  which 
quite  inundated  the  pillow  and  swept  the  ground.  In 
a  f t  w  moments  the  young  girl  was  in  a  deep  sleep. 
Evelyn    still    continued   to   caress   her.      Turning 
to  me,  after  a  pause,  she  said  :.  "  If  I  could  only 
know  whether  Reginald  is  alive  or  dead,  I  think  I 
should  be  less  wretched." 

As  her  mother  spoke,  I  beheld  Ella  raise  herself 
to  a  sitting  posture.  Her  eyes  were  dilated,  as  if 
she  saw  something  in  the  distance.  Evelyn,  alarm- 
ed, would  have  awaked  her ;  but  I  motioned  her  to 
silence. 

The  child  slowly  raised  her  arm,  and  pointed 
with  her  delicate  finger  to  something  she  appeared 


108 


DEATH. 


to  see ;  then,  in  a  clear,  ringing  voice,  like  and  yet 
unlike  her  own  :  "  I  see  a  large  army  move  across 
a  plain,  like  an  ocean  of  verdure.  Oh !  it  is  so 
wide — so  wide — the  groves  of  trees  are  like  islands, 
here  and  there ;  and  oh,  mama,  how  beautiful !  See 
the  palaces,  the  domes — all  gold  and  azure.  See  the 
white  columns  and  terraces.  What  a  lovely  place  !" 
She  paused  a  moment ;  and  then,  suddenly,  almost 
screamed,  catching  her  mother's  arm :  "  Oh  !  look — 
look  at  that  brave  officer,  on  a  grey  horse — see  his 
white  plumes  dance.  He  draws  his  sword ;  he  fears 
nothing.  Oh  !  it  is — it  is  Reginald.  Reginald,  do 
not  go  there — there  is  blood — blood  !  Mama,  take 
me  away !  They  fight — they  are  wicked.  I  will 
not  see  this  horrible  blood  !" 

Ella  covered  her  eyes,  and  fell  back  on  the  sofa. 
Her  limbs  were  convulsed,  her  chest  heaved  for  a 
few  moments,  and  then  happily  she  sank  into  a 
deep  and  peaceful  sleep,  in  which  she  remained  for 
some  hours.  When  she  awoke,  she  appeared  more 
cheerful  than  usual,  and  seemed  to  have  utterly  for- 
gotten her  dream — if  dream  it  could  be  called. 

The  occurrence  was  so  remarkable,  that  I  wrote 
it  down  in  my  journal,  with  the  date;  and  later, 
when  I  had  become  familiar  with  the  phenomena  of 
clairvovance,  and  the  mesmeric  trance,  I  considered 


DEATH.  109 

this  as  one  of  the  most  remarkable  instances  of  the 
kind  on  record. 

Another  month,  and  we  had  almost  ceased  to 
hope  for  the  letter.     When  it  came,  it  was  thus : 


Before  Lucknow,  November  — — ,  '67. 

Your  letter,  my  beloved  Evelyn,  I  have  only  just 
received  :  through  some  mistake,  it  has  been  lying 
at  my  agent's,  in  Calcutta ;  and  I  have  only  now 
been  able  to  press  it  to  my  heart  and  lips.  Thanks, 
a  thousand  thanks,  for  the  sweet  hope  that  letter 
contains.  If  God  spare  this  poor  life,  it  shall  be  de- 
voted to  render  my  Evelyn  forever  happy.  Do  not 
speak  of  forgiveness ;  it  is  I  that  ought  to  ask  par- 
don, for  having  mistrusted  the  woman  I  respect  and 
revere  most  upon  earth.  Can  she  forget  a  foolish 
jealousy,  occasioned  by  her  beauty  and  fascination  ? 
I  am  making  a  writing-table  out  of  the  stump  of 
a  tree.  To-morrow,  we  expect  to  storm  Lucknow. 
Our  chief,  Sir  Colin,  has  kindly  placed  me  on  his 
staff. 

The  thought  of  you,  sweetest,  will  stimulate  me 
to  dare  everything.  I  fervently  trust  in  God  that 
my  life  may  be  spared,  now  that  it  is  of  value  to 
you;  but  if,  in  the  divine  decrees  of  an  all- wise 
Providence,  I  am  fated  to  fall — then,  Evelyn,  my 


110  DEATH. 

wife,  before  Heaven — farewell !  Do  not  monrn  for 
one  who  will  have  died  the  death  of  a  hero.  Shed 
a  few  gentle,  pitying  tears,  and  then  be  happy,  and 
forget  me.  No — do  not  forget.  Remember  me 
as  one  to  whom  you  were  dearer  than  all  but  his 
honor — one  who  will  ever  watch  and  guard  you, 
even  from  that  world  beyond  the  tomb,  to  which 
we  are  all  hastening.  One  curl  of  your  soft  brown 
hair  and  your  miniature  have  never  left  my  heart. 
If  these  are  returned,  you  will  know  that  a  spirit 
has  passed  away,  whose  last  thought  in  dying  was 
of  you.  Again,  and  again — Farewell?  God  for- 
ever bless  you,  my  own — my  bride  ! 

Your  loving 

REGINALD. 


Short  happiness  did  this  letter  bring  to  our  hearts. 
It  also  had  been  long  delayed  on  the  road.  Three 
days  after  its  receipt  Evelyn  entered  my  room  ere 
it  was  day,  pale — her  hair  dishevelled,  her  eyes  red 
and  swelled  with  weeping. 

"  Reginald  is  dead,"  said  she,  "  I  have  seen  him. 
Nay,  speak  not,"  she  added,  seeing  I  would  have 
chided  her  folly,  "  I  have  murdered  him.  Had  I  con- 
sented to  a  marriage  he  would  have  left  the  army, 
and  would  never  have  been  sent  to  India.  As  I  lay 
awake  last  night,  I  tell  you  I  saw  him  as  plain  as  I 


DEATH.  Ill 

do  you.  He  approached  the  bed,  looked  lovingly 
upon  me,  and  I  saw  a  wound  in  his  breast.  Sud- 
denly the  form  melted  into  air.  I  had  no  fear.  I 
wished  he  would  again  appear.  I  should  have 
spoken  to  him.  But  nothing  more  occurred." 

Evelyn  returned  to  her  bed,  not  to  leave  it  for 
some  time. 

The  first  day  she  arose  from  it,  weak,  but  calm 
and  collected,  she  said  to  me,  "  Now,  Mary,  you 
may  give  me  the  lock  of  hair  and  the  miniature,  and 
read  me  the  account  of  my  young  hero's  death.  I 
can  bear  all — the  worst  is  past." 

Seeing  that  I  still  wept,  and  hesitated  -to  do  her 
bidding,  she  arose,  gently  took  the  keys  from  my 
hands,  and  unlocked  the  bureau,  where  unknown  to 
her  I  had  secreted  these  touching  memorials  of  a 
happiness  now  past  forever.  With  a  calmness  more 
piteous  to  behold  than  any  violent  grief,  she  opened 
all  and  read  all.  Then  gently  clasping  her  hands, 
she  sank  upon  her  knees,  saying,  "  I  was  not  worthy 
of  him.  Thy  will  be  done,  oh  God !  Thy  will  be 
done." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

NAPLES       AND        THE        NEAPOLITANS. 

MUCH  has  been  said  and  written  bj  poets  and 
philosophers  on  the  evanescent  nature  of  all  earthly 
joys,  and  the  precarious  tenure  on  which  we  hold 
our  happiness  here  below ;  but  while  this  is  indu- 
bitally  true,  let  us  be  thankful  that  in  the  divine 
decrees  of  a  wise  Providence,  sorrow  is  of  a  nature 
equally  transient.  The  human  heart  shrinks  from 
suffering  and  yearns  to  be  blessed.  Such  is  the  un- 
erring law  of  our  being,  and  He  who  "  tempers  the 
wind  to  the  shorn  lamb,"  mercifully  permits  Time, 
that  great  physician,  to  pour  balm  into  our  deepest 
wounds,  though  ever  and  anon  a  word,  a  flower,  a 
perfume,  a  breath,  will  cause  them  to  bleed  afresh, 
and  throb  with  exquisite  agony. 

The  night  shadow  which  since  the  death  of  Reginald 
Melville  had  enveloped  our  little  party,  had  gradu- 
ally given  place  to  the  aurora  of  renewed  hope. — 


NAPLES  AND  THE  NEAPOLITANS.        113 

Evelyn  by  degrees  regained  her  health  and  cheer- 
ful spirits,  though  she  ceased  not  to  reproach  her- 
self as  the  involuntary  cause  of  Reginald's  death. 
Ella  had  become  very  thoughtful,  and  appeared  to 
us  at  times  to  wander  in  her  mind.  She  frequently 
said,  "  Mama,  I  saw  him  last  night ;  he  bid  me  pray 
for  him." 

Or  she  would  chide  us  for  being  sad,  "  He  is  hap- 
py, dearest  mama — he  told  me  so." 

Once  she  said  with  much  solemnity,  raising  her 
hand  as  if  to  impress  her  words  upon  our  hearts  : 

"  Mother,  Reginald  bids  me  tell  you  he  loves  you 
and  still  watches  over  you,  and  you  will  meet 
again." 

The  child  frequently  spoke  of  this  suddenly,  with- 
out premeditation,  looking  up  from  her  book,  or  her 
work,  or  even  while  nursing  her  doll.  We  thought 
this  death  had  made  too  deep  an  impression  on  her 
youthful  mind,  and  endeavored  as  much  as  possible 
to  divert  her  thoughts  from  so  melancholy  a  subject, 
but  we  only  partially  succeeded.  She  would  refer 
to  it  again  and  again,  not  in  sadness,  but  as  if  she 
realized  a  presence  unperceived  by  others,  and  was 
a  medium  of  communication  betVeen  the  land  of 
spirits  and  the  world  of  sense. 

We  lived  in  strict  seclusion,  our  sole  distraction 
being  to  visit  occasionally,  in  company  with  a  few 


114       NAPLES  AND  THE  NEAPOLITANS. 

friends,  the  storied  and  romantic  environs  of  Naples. 
The  gulf  of  Salerno,  the  village  of  Amalfi,  with 
its  panorama  of  mountains,  the  ruins  of  Paestum, 
where  the  balmy  and  fragrant  breeze  is  laden  with 
the  baleful  breath  of  fever ;  and,  lastlv,  Pompeii, 
with  her  numerous  villas,  where  of  old  the  enervated 
patricians  of  ancient  Rome  enjoyed  the  dolce  far 
niente  of  a  voluptuous  climate,  heedless  of  the  fiery 
destruction  which,  at  any  moment,  might  over- 
whelm their  fair  town,  and  hurry  those  unthinking 
votaries  of  pleasure  into  eternity.  Bulwer's  "Last 
Days  of  Pompeii  "  contains  a  description  so  graphic, 
and  so  true  of  this  ill-fated  city,  that  we  cannot  do 
better  than  refer  our  readers  to  that  classic  work. 
We  may,  however,  be  permitted  to  add,  that  never 
before  or  since  has  so  beautiful  a  site  been  chosen 
for  town  or  village  as  was  that  summer  resort  of  the 
Romans.  The  vistas  which  opened  upon  us  through 
each  fluted  column,  and  beneath  each  sculptured 
archway — of  the  blue  Mediterranean — of  Vesuvius 
and  his  attendant  mountains,  their  vine-clad  val- 
leys all  colored  by  the  heavenly  hues  of  South- 
ern Italy — Oh  !  this  was  a  sight  which  will  forever 
remain  impressed  on  my  senses  and  on  my  heart. 

The  Due  di  Balzano — of  whom  mention  has  pre- 
viously been  made — was  frequently  our  escort  in 
these  delightful  excursions.  During  Evelyn's  illness 


NAPLES   AND   THE   NEAPOLITANS.  115 

and  time  of  trial,  he  had  been  untiring  in  those 
attentions  which  spring  from  the  natural  goodness 
of  the  heart.  We  now  considered  him  quite  as  a 
friend ;  and  never  has  it  been  my  lot  to  meet 
a  more  unselfish  character.  lie  was  a  man  of  much 
influence  in  his  native  land,  and  this  he  always 
exerted  for  the  good  of  others.  Nearly  connected 
by  the  marriage  of  a  cousin,  with  the  king,  his  sym- 
pathies were  royalist  and  anti-revolutionary ;  yet  he 
was  kindness  itself  to  the  poor  and  oppressed  of  his 
nation,  and  had  frequently  run  the  risk  of  compro- 
mising himself  politically,  in  order  to  save  those 
who  had  'mplored  his  protection,  which  no  one  ever 
solicited  in  vain. 

About  this  time,  a  circumstance  occurred  which 
greatly  increased  our  esteem  for  one  whose  nature 
was  even  more  noble  than  his  birth,  though  that 
were  of  the  highest  in  the  land.  The  Due  di  Bal- 
zano  lounged  away  much  of  his  time  at  the  fashion- 
able cq/es,. which,  like  our  clubs,  are  with  the  young 
Italians  a  much-frequented  place  of  rendezvous. 
As  he  was  standing  in  the  doorway,  Evelyn  passed 
in  her  carriage  through  the  Toledo. 

I  have  stated,  in  a  former  page,  that  our  heroine 
had  not  altogether  escaped  the  tongue  of  calumny — 
that  pale  daughter  of  Envy,  engendered  by  coward- 
ice, aud  nurtured  by  hatred  and  deceit.  Evil  report 


116        NAPLES  AND  THE  NEAPOLITANS. 

had  even  pursued  her  in  her  solitude  ;  and  now,  as 
she  passed,  and  gracefully  acknowledged  the  re- 
spectful salutation  of  di  Balzano,  a  knot  of  young 
exquisites,  who  only  knew  her  by  sight,  commenced 
a  conversation,  of  which  the  English  signora  was 
the  subject  : 

" E  una  betta  donna"  said  the  Prince  Cassero, 
"  but  they  say  she  is  the  cast  off  mistress  of  the 
Count  Syracuse." 

"Ah,  yes,"  said  another,  "and  her  lover  killed 
himself  in  despair." 

"  She  is  evidently,"  said  a  third,  "  a  donna  leg- 
giera" 

""Well,"  lisped  a  youth  of  about  seventeen,  "  she 
is  a  fine  creature,  and  sympathetic.  I  think  I  shall 
make  her  acquaintance." 

De  Balzano  could  bear  no  more ;  he  sprang  into 
the  midst  of  this  dastardly  coterie  like  a  tiger.  He 
was  superb  in  his  disdainful  anger. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  you  are  all  cowards. 
That  English  lady  is  my  friend,  and  you  shall  all 
answer  to  me  for  what  you  have  said,  or  make  a 
most  humble  apology  in  writing,  confessing  that 
your  statements  are  false.  I  expect  to  hear  from 
you  at  the  Palazzo  Balzano." 

Thus  saying,  he  left  the  cafe  and  returned  home. 
He  was  a  crack  shot,  fenced  beautifully,  and  was 


NAPLES  AND  THE  NEAPOLITANS.        117 

an  adept  at  the  sword  exercise.  It  is,  after  this,  use- 
less to  say  that  a  full  and  ample  apology  was  made 
in  writing  by  all  the  offenders,  and  from  that  mo- 
ment not  a  whisper  was  ever  breathed  against  the 
fair  fame  of  the  English  signora. 

Too  delicate  to  inform  us  of  this  circumstance 
himself,  we  heard  of  it  by  chance  some  days  after- 
wards, through  one  who  had  been  a  spectator  of  the 
scene.  Our  grateful  acknowledgments  to  our  kind 
protector  may  be  easily  imagined ;  and  from  that  time 
di  Balzano  became  a  constant  visitor  at  our  home. 

"We  presented  our  credentials  to  our  kind  and 
respected  minister,  Sir  W.  Temple,  who  received 
us  with  true  English  hospitality.  Once  more  we 
entered  the  glittering  halls  of  pleasure  —  once 
more  my  heroine  became  apparently  the  gayest 
of  the  gay;  but  she  had  learned  a  lesson.  No 
longer  a  coquette,  she  sought  the  society  of  la- 
dies, rather  than  that  of  the  opposite  sex.  Di 
Balzano  had  no  reason  for  jealousy  ;  poor  fellow — 
I  saw  that  his  heart  was  irretrievably  hers.  He 
paid  her  the  most  respectful  attention,  and  she  ap- 
peared to  feel  for  him  sincere  friendship  and  esteem 
— nothing  more. 

Yet  such  a  marriage  might  have  satisfied  even 
one  as  fastidious  as  was  Evelyn.  Balzano  was 
handsome,  noble,  good,  independent  in  fortune, 


118  NAPLES   AND   THE   NEAPOLITANS. 

and  deeply  in  love  ;  he  was  manly,  (a  rare  quality 
in  an  Italian,)  honorable,  brave,  and  unselfish  al- 
most to  a  fault. 

But  our  heroine  chose  to  imagine  him  uneduca- 
ted, and  not  sufficiently  spiritud.  She  observed 
that  after  dinner  he  felt  inclined  to  take  a  siesta. — 
Her  old  failing  of  despising  a  devoted  heart,  came 
back  in  full  force.  "Was  she  not  beautiful? — had 
she  not  been  adored  by  Melville  and  others  ?  She 
might  look  higher — if  not  as  to  birth,  at  least  as  re- 
gards intellect.  She  was  not  content  with  plain 
common  sense  in  a  Husband,  united  with  the  artistic 
taste  innate  in  most  of  the  children  of  beautiful 
Italy.  She  did  not  at  that  time  appreciate  the  in- 
estimable bliss  of  tranquil  domestic  life.  She  would 
shine,  she  would  be  somebody  in  the  world — the 
wife  of  a  Cabinet  Minister,  of  a  great  general,  an 
orator,  a  poet.  She  desired  to  queen  it,  in  society ; 
she  was  in  truth  a  worldling  at  heart,  a  very  slave 
to  the  pomps  and  vanities  of  life  — not  perhaps  for 
their  own  intrinsic  merit,  but  as  a  means  of  gratify- 
ing those  ambitious  desires,  which  as  a  vulture  de- 
voured every  good  feeling  of  her  nature.  But  God, 
as  a  tender  Father,  who  chastises  but  to  bless,  was 
leading  her  in  His  own  way,  and  preparing  for  her 
unwilling  feet,  a  path  so  steep  and  thorny,  that 
could  the  future  have  been  at  that  time  disclosed 


NAPLES   AND  THE   NEAPOLITANS. 


119 


to  her,  she  would  have  shrunk  back  appalled  from 
its  dreariness,  and  have  clung  with  the  tenacious 
grasp  of  despair  to  this  her  last  hope  of  happiness 
on  earth. 


CHAPTER  XIY. 

I      PBOMESSI      8P08I. 

"  AND  so,  lella  mia,  I  may  at  last  be  permitted 
to  congratulate  you  on  your  engagement  to  the  Due 
di  Balzano.  If  I  understand  aright,  he  will  very 
shortly  place  a  coronet  on  the  fair  brow  he  so  much 
admires — is  it  not  so  ?" 

"Not  exactly,  Mary,"  said  Evelyn,  looking  up 
from  a  sketch  she  was  making.  "  You  know,  dear, 
that  Balzano  has  himself  placed  a  serious  impedi- 
ment in  the  way  of  our  marriage.  He  insists  on  my 
becoming  a  Catholic." 

"  I  am  perfectly  aware  of  that,  Evelyn,"  I  an- 
swered, "  but  I  thought  you  were  well  disposed  to- 
ward the  faith  of  Rome,  and  that  your  present  so- 
journ in  this  city  was  with  a  view  to  studying  the 
dogmas  of  the  Catholic  Church." 

"  Precisely  so,  Mary — and  for  that  reason  also, 
Balzano  has  presented  to  us  the  chaplain  of  His 


I   PKOME88I   8P08I.  121 

Holiness,  Monsignore  Dormer,  for  whose  spiritual 
counsel  I  am  sincerely  thankful.  Yet  I  cannot 
force  my  conscience,  nor  be  converted  against  my 
convictions." 

"  Pardon  me,"  I  rejoined,  "  but  have  you  not 
done  wrong  in  raising  hopes  which  may  never  be 
realized  ?" 

"  Keally,"  replied  she,  "  if  the  gentleman  himself 
makes  these  conditions,  I  do  not  see  how  any  blame 
can  possibly  attach  to  me." 

"  You  are  aware,  Evelyn,  that  the  conditions  you 
speak  of  are  rather  those  of  the  laws  of  his  country, 
than  his  own.  As  a  Protestant,  your  marriage  with 
a  Catholic  would  in  Naples  be  considered  illegal, 
and  your  children  illegitimate.  A  dispensation 
from  the  Pope  would,  on  the  other  hand,  be  too 
costly.  You  have  therefore  no  alternative — either 
you  must  give  up  the  marriage,  or  change  your 
religion." 

"  Oh,  you  sensible  creature  !"  exclaimed  Evelyn, 
with  some  petulance.  "  Miss  Edgeworth  must  have 
had  you  as  her  model  when  she  portrayed  her  pru- 
dent and  proper  heroines.  Why,  my  dear  soul, 
Catholics  never  marry  in  Lent — so  I  have  two 
months  before  me — '  Sufficient  for  the  day  is  the 
evil  thereof.'" 


122  I   PROMESSI   SP08I. 

"Ah  !  Evelyn,  Evelyn,  incorrigible  at  thirty  as  at 
thirteen,  when  will  you  come  to  years  of  discretion  !" 

The  entrance  of  di  Balzano  put  an  end  to  our 
conversation,  which  took  place  one  evening  in  our 
apartment  in  the  Piazza  di  Spagna,  in  Rome,  where 
we  had  ostensibly  come  with  the  view  of  assisting 
at  the  ceremonies  of  the  Holy  Week.  The  duke 
came  to  propose  for  that  evening  a  party  to  view 
the  Coliseum  by  moonlight.  Ever  love-loyal  to  his 
lady's  lightest  wish,  her  lover's  one  thought  was  to 
give  her  pleasure ;  and  as  his  friends  and  acquaint- 
ances were  all  highly  placed,  we  had  facilities  for 
sight-seeing  rarely  granted  to  strangers. 

Our  mornings  were  usually  employed  in  lionizing 
the  various  galleries  and  churches  of  the  Eternal 
City.  To  one  small  chamber  in  the  Vatican  we  re- 
turned again  and  again.  Need  I  say,  it  was  to  pass 
hours  before  the  most  perfect  statue  ever  fashioned 
by  mortal  chisel — the  glorious,  the  divine  Apollo  ! 
Oh  !  I  can  well  imagine  how  a  young  maiden  pined 
away  and  died  for  love  of  that  majestic  form — those 
delicate  features,  so  beautiful  in  their  proud  con- 
sciousness of  power.  I  can  well  believe  how  her 
tender  bosom  thrilled  with  a  hope  that  was  almost 
an  agony,  as  she  in  fancy  beheld  the  magnetic  flame 
of  life  animate  the  marble  and  reveal  the  present 
god.  Ah,  me  !  poor  child — and  is  she  the  only  one 


I   PROMES8T   8PO8I.  123 

of  her  sex  who  has  lived,  and  loved — aye,  and  died 
for  a  shadow — a  phantasy  ?  Are  we  not  all  doomed 
to  make  idols,  and,  sooner  or  later,  to  "  find  them 
clay?" 

Evelyn  and  myself  agreed  that,  on  leaving  these 
galleries,  as  it  were,  "drunk  with  beauty,"  every 
one  we  met  appeared  to  us  plain  and  homely. 
Rome  is  rather  unfavorable  to  the  development  of 
the  tender  passion.  Nor  did  it  surprise  me  that  here 
Numa  Pompilius  preferred  a  visionary  nymph  to  a 
daughter  of  earth. 

Our  time  passed  pleasantly  enough  ;  yet  Evelyn 
appeared  to  suffer  from  low  spirits,  and  occasionally 
I  surprised  her  shedding  tears.  As  the  chaplain  of 
the  Pope  came  constantly  to  give  her  religious  in- 
struction, I  imagined  her  mind  was  influenced  by 
his  pious  conversation,  and  deeply  desired  it  might 
be  BO,  for  her  future  good  and  that  of  her  daughter. 
I  do  not  now  allude  so  much  to  her  becoming  what 
it  is  the  fashion  in  England  to  call  "  a  Pervert,"  but 
to  her  being  seriously  and  practically  convinced, 
that  trust  in  God,  combined  with  a  desire  to  please 
Him  and  to  obey  His  commandments,  is  the  only 
foundation  for  true  happiness,  either  here  or  here- 
after. Evelyn  being  a  highly  imaginative  person, 
passionately  fond  of  music — in  short,  an  idealist — I 
considered  the  Catholic  form  of  worship  would  be 


124  I   PROMESSI   SPOSI. 

highly  attractive  to  her,  and  trusted  any  impression 
she  might  now  receive  would  prove  lasting. 

Nevertheless,  I   sometimes  feared  that  even  the 
devotion  of  di  Balzano  had  not  met  with  the  return 
it  merited.     It  appeared  to  me  as  if  my  friend  were 
more  influenced  by  the  rank  and  position  of  her 
fiance  than   by  her  heart,   in   the    choice  she  had 
made.     Her  own  standing  in  society  she  had  some- 
what damaged  by  past  imprudence,  and  so  unex- 
ceptionable a  marriage  was  too  wise  a  step  to  admit 
of  hesitation  in  a  mere  worldly  point  of  view.     But 
the  evidently  deep  attachment  of  Balzano  deserved 
a  more  worthy  return.     He  was   not,  it   is  true, 
romantic  or  sentimental ;  but  his  heart  was  noble 
and  affectionate,  and  he  had  placed  it  wholly  in  the 
keeping  of  her  he  hoped  ere  long  to  call  his  bride. 
He  had  no  brilliant  talent,  certes ;  but  he  possessed 
sound  common  sense  and  great  tact.     Young,  hand- 
some, aristocratic,  a  "  lion,"  and  unmistakably  in 
love.     What  could  any  reasonable  woman  require 
more?     So  thought  I,  at  least;  and  as  I  watched 
the  couple,  to  outward  appearance  so  well  matched, 
I  augured  for  Evelyn  a  future  almost  devoid  of  the 
clouds  which  so  frequently  darken  the  matrimonial 
horizon. 

Many  of  the  noble  ladies  of  Rome,  friends  of  the 
duke,  took  great  interest  in  the  probable  conversion 


I  PEOMESSI   8P08I.  125 

of  his  English  betrothed  ;  and  books  and  pamphlets 
were  sent  her  in  abundance  by  these  fair  zealots 
and  kindly  well-wishers  to  what  they  considered 
a  most  holy  cause 

"We  had,  at  length,  reached  that  period  of  the 
year  when  the  Church  of  Rome  celebrates,  with 
every  adjunct  of  pomp  and  circumstance,  the  great 
mysteries  of  our  redemption.  The  ladies  admitted 
to  view  the  ceremonies  within  the  railings  of  the 
Church  of  St.  Peter  must  be  costumed  in  black,  and 
wear  a  black  lace  mantilla,  or  veil  on  their  heads, 
m  lieu  of  a  bonnet.  The  Holy  Week  commences 
by  the  blessing  of  the  Palms,  which  are  afterwards 
distributed  among  the  people.  Each  succeeding 
day  has  its  appropriate  services  ;  and  on  Holy 
Thursday,  two  very  grand  ceremonies  take  place — 
that  of  washing  the  feet  of  twelve  old  men  by  His 
Holinness,  in  imitation  of  Jesus  washing  his  apos- 
tles' feet;  and  next,  the  great  function  of  the 
"  Cena,"  or  Supper,  when  these  same  twelve  are 
served  at  table  by  Bishops  and  Cardinals. 

On  Easter  Sunday,  after  a  magnificent  service  in 
the  Cathedral,  the  Pope  is  carried  in  a  chair  to  a 
balcony  situated  near  the  roof  of  the  building,  and 
from  this  fearful  elevation  he  blesses  the  kneeling 
multitude  congregated  in  the  immense  piazza  of  St. 
Peters.  Pio  Nono  has  a  remarkably  fine  sonorous 


126  I   PEOMESSI   BPOSI. 

voice ;  and,  as  he  spoke  the  Latin  address  from  that 
dizzy  height,  not  one  syllable  was  lost. 

It  was  a  most  imposing  and  touching  sight,  that 
crowd  of  all  nations  and  all  creeds,  without  distinc- 
tion of  age  or  sex,  all  bending  in  humility  to  re- 
ceive the  apostolic  benediction.  Many  around  had 
tears  in  their  eyes ;  nor  were  my  own  hereti- 
cal orbs  altogether  free  from  such  weakness.  A 
moment,  and  the  clank  of  arms,  the  roll  of  the 
drums,  and  the  boom  of  artillery  announce  the  close 
of  the  ceremony.  We  pick  ourselves  up,  stealthily 
wipe  our  eyes,  enter  the  carriage,  drive  to  our  hotel, 
and  proceed  to — luncheon. 

"  Sic  transit  gloria  mundi." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE      GBOTTO      OF      EGEKIA. 

IMMEDIATELY  subsequent  to  the  conclusion  of  the 
ceremonies  of  the  Easter  week,  Rome  is  suddenly 
deserted  by  the  crowd  of  strangers  who  have 
thronged  her  churches,  and  elbowed  each  other  in 
her  galleries  and  palaces.  They  fly  to  Naples,  Flo- 
rence, Paris,  London,  as  may  be.  And  yet  the  en- 
virons of  the  Eternal  City  are  well  worth  a  more 
than  casual  visit. 

It  was  now  the  month  of  May,  and  the  glowing  sun 
of  Italy  had  already  clothed  the  trees  with  their  spring 
foliage,  and  scattered  flowers  into  the  lap  of  Earth. 
An  excursion  to  the  beautiful  and  romantic  grotto 
of  Egeria  was  planned — and  our  little  party,  ac- 
companied by  di  Balzano,  started  in  the  early 
morning  on  our  expedition.  "What  an  apparently 
happy  society  ! — two  lovers,  on  the  eve  o'f  a  mar- 
riage of  inclination,  a  beloved  child,  a  sincere 
friend,  all  united  for  the  express  purpose  of  enjoy- 


128  THE  GROTTO  OF  EGERIA. 

ment.  Above  us,  the  purple  canopy  of  an  Italian 
heaven — around,  the  varied  beauties  of  scenery 
whilst  the  tepid  and  perfumed  breeze  of  the  South 
fanned  our  cheeks,  and  breathed  new  life  into  our 
frames.  Surely  no  element  of  enjoyment  was  want- 
ing ;  and  yet,  strange  to  relate,  of  all  that  party  El- 
la alone  appeared  free  from  care.  Evelyn's  attic 
brow  was  clouded,  and  her  eyelids  "  drooped  with 
unshed  tears."  The  usually  cheerful  and  light- 
hearted  Balzano  was  serious  and  silent — myself 
nervous  and  restless — for  I  had  a  task  before  me, 
which,  however  unpleasant,  I  had  resolved  on  per- 
forming :  it  was  a  duty,  and  I  would  not  shrink 
from  it.  Thus  was  our  drive  any  thing  but  social. 

On  arriving  at  the  spot  where  travellers  quit  their 
carriages  to  walk  to  the  grotto,  we  alighted — and 
after  patiently  undergoing  the  usual  amount  of  vic- 
timization from  those  harpies  the  guides,  who  re- 
morselessly rob  you  of  your  illusions  while  they 
empty  your  pockets,  we  succeeded  in  debarrassing 
ourselves  of  their  services  on  the  promise  of  a  sec- 
ond lottiglia*  on  our  return  to  the  carriage.  "We 
were  thus  enabled  to  wander  unmolested  through 
the  cool  and  secluded  paths  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
fountain  and  grotto  of  the  nymph.  Ella  at  once 

*  The  Italian  term  for  drink-money, 


THE  GROTTO  OF  EGERIA.  129 

seized  upon  her  friend  Balzano,  and  insisted  that  he 
should  take  her  on  an  exploring  expedition  !  Eve- 
lyn and  myself,  soon  weary  with  onr  wanderings,' 
seated  ourselves  near  the  moss-clad  basin,  from 
which  for  ever  flows  the  crystal  spring,  sacred  to 
the  mysterious  loves  of  the  immortal  maiden  and 
her  Roman  lover. 

u  I  have  often  wondered,"  she  observed,  "  whe- 
ther this  legend  of  ancient  Rome  is  founded  on 
truth,  or  whether  Egeria  was  but  the  symbol  of  the 
inspired  teachings  received  by  Numa  in  his  solitary 
cornmunings  with  nature.'' 

"  I  have  always  considered  this  as  a  myth,"  I  re- 
plied. "  All  the  fables  of  ancient  Greece  and 
Rome  had  some  hidden  meaning  other  than  a  mere- 
ly sensuous  one — and  this  was  probably  as  you  have 
stated,  an  allegory." 

"  And  yet,"  said  Evelyn,  "  it  suits  my  fancy — at 
least  while  here — to  believe,  that  all-potent  love 
drew  the  heaven  born  maiden  from  her  solitudes, 
and  that  as  she  pillowed  her  fair  head  upon  the 
manly  bosom  of  her  human  lover,  her  throbbing 
heart  timidly  confessed  that  even  Paradise  had  for 
her  no  higher  joy.  I  believe  with  Byron,  that  love 
is  '  no  habitant  of  earth.'  " 

"  Ah  !  Evelyn,"  I  exclaimed,  "  you  at  least  have 
no  right  to  say  so — for  never  was  mortal  woman 


130  THE  GROTTO  OF  EOERIA. 

more  truly,  more  devotedly  loved,  than  you  have 
been,  and  still  are." 

"  Why  not  add,"  said  she,  smiling  sadly,  "  that 
never  has  mortal  woman  made  a  more  ungrateful 
return  ?  Granted,  dear  Mentor— and  what  then  ?" 

"  What  then  ?  What  a  question ! — when  you  are 
on  the  eve  of  marriage  with-  one  who  possesses  al- 
most every  quality  you  can  desire.  I  say  almost,  for 
perfection  is  not  to  be  found  here  below." 

Evelyn  was  silent  for  a  few  moments  ;  then  ris- 
ing, she  said,  as  one  inspired,  her  cheek  glowing 
her  eyes  flashing,  while  her  voice  trembled  with 
an  emotion  to  which  she  rarely  gave  way — 

"  Hear  me,  Mary.  Do  not  think  me  insensible. 
The  passion  so  frequently  misnamed  love  on  earth 
is  but  its  counterfeit.  Love,  as  I  understand  it,  is  a 
spiritual  passion — a  union  of  souls — that  magnetic 
or  electric  affinity  which  is  as  irresistible  as  it  is  in- 
dissoluble ;  for  it  makes  of  two  imperfect  creatures 
one  perfect  being — it  replaces  the  original  self  with 
another  and  dearer  self;  so  that  where  once  all 
thoughts  and  feelings  culminated  in  the  ego,  they 
are  now  centered  in  Tu.  This  love  knows  neither 
change  nor  death — nor  jealous}',  strong  as  death  ; 
for  it  places  implicit  trust  in  the  beloved  one — and 
if,  by  chance,  that  trust  is  misplaced — ah  !  then," 
shuddering,  and  placing  her  hand  on  her  bosom — 


THE  GROTTO  OF  EGEEIA.  131 

"  then  the  fountain  of  life  is  quenched,  and  the 
world  say,  '  Ah !  she  died  of  a  broken  heart.'  But 
this  love,"  she  continued,  pointing  to  heaven,  "  is 
there,  and  there  only.  While  here, 

" '  If  there  be  a  sympathy  in  choice, 
War,  death,  or  sickness  doth  lay  siege  to  it, 
Making  it  momentary  as  a  sound, 
Swift  as  a  shadow,  brief  as  any  dream. 

"  Such  our  sad  destiny  !" 

Evelyn  paused,  and,  coming  close  to  me,  seated 
herself;  and  taking  my  hand,  she  said,  as  her  eyes 
slowly  filled  with  tears  :  "  Poor  Balzano !  would 
that  he  had  loved  YOU,  Mary.  You  have  more 
heart  to  bestow  than  I  have.  Mine  has  depths, 
few — none  may  ever  sound.  And  now,  tell  me, 
candidly,  ought  I  to  marry  him?" 

She  looked  anxiously  into  my  face.  I  scarcely 
knew  what  to  reply.  The  strength  of  her — what 
shall  I  say  ? — imagination  surprised  me ;  or  rather, 
are  not  the  mind's  ideal  shapes  more  real  than  that 
which  we  term  reality  ? 

Evelyn  withdrew  her  hand,  and  turned  away  dis- 
appointed. "  I  feared  you  would  not  understand 
me,"  she  sighed. 

"  Yes,  dear,"  I  replied.  Though  your  character 
is  a  rare  one,  I  can  comprehend,  and  even  sympa- 
thize with  you.  Still,  it  seems  to  me  that  you  are 


132  THE  GEOTTO  OF  EGEEIA. 

wilfully  throwing  away  another  chance  of  happiness 
for  a  chimera — a  visionary  bliss  you  can  never  hope 
to  realize.  You  will  learn  to  love  Balzano  devotedly 
when  you  are  once  his  wife — the  angel  of  the  sanc- 
tuary of  his  home." 

"  Alas !  Mary,  I  shall  never — never  love  him  as 
I  could — love,  as  I  ought  to  love  a  husband.  Still, 
I  have  a  sincere  affection  for  him,  am  deeply  grate- 
ful for  his  devotion,  and  value  all  his  noble  quali- 
ties ;  but  our  souls  would  forever  remain  apart.  He 
could  never  dwell  enshrined  within  the  temple  of 
my  heart.  I  would  give  him  all  in  my  power  to 
give.  More  than  that  I  could  not  do.  Pity  me ! 
for  the  pain  it  will  cost  me  to  break  this  off.  Indeed, 
I  dread,  above  all,  not  being  able  to  make  him 
happy.  Could  I  do  so,  if  wretched  myself?" 

"Well,  dearest,"  I  said,  "  if  this  be  so,  you  must 
let  him  know,  without  further  delay.  My  intention 
was  to  say  this  to  you  to-day ;  but  you  have  fore- 
stalled me.  Let  me,  however,  entreat  you  to  con- 
sider well — the  time  may  come  when  you  will,  per- 
haps, deeply  regret  having  rejected  so  honorable 
and  noble  a  heart,  for  a  caprice,  a  fancy. 

"Alas!"  she  rejoined,  bitterly— "I  feel  that, 
whether  I  unite  my  fate  with  the  noble  Balzano,  or 
whether  1  decide  to  remain  alone  and  unloved,  re- 


THE  GBOTTO  OF  BOKBIA.  133 

gret  will  equally  be  mine.  Such  is  my  cruel 
destiny !" 

Just  then  we  heard  Ella's  ringing  laugh,  and 
rose  to  meet  them. 

On  leaving  the  grotto,  we  perceived  Balzano  ;  his 
hat,  his  pockets,  his  hands,  all  crammed  with  wild 
flowers  and  mosses  for  his  pet's  herbarium.  As  I 
looked  on  his  fine  open  countenance,  beaming 
with  good  nature,  and  now  animated  with  the 
pleasure  of  amusing  a  child,  I  almost  wondered  at 
Evelyn's  insensibility,  even  admitting  he  was  no  type 
of  that  spiritual  beauty  she  had  taken  as  her  beau 
ideal. 

During  our  drive  homeward,  it  struck  me  that 
Evelyn's  manner  was  softer  and  kinder  towards  her 
lover  than  it  had  been  for  some  time.  Did  she  re- 
lent ?  or  was  it  the  tender  pity  a  woman  ever  feels 
toward  a  suitor  she  is  determined  to  reject,  know- 
ing at  the  same  time  she  is  fondly  loved  ? 

We  retired  early  to  rest ;  but,  before  we  parted 
for  the  night,  I  received  Evelyn's  promise  that  she 
would,  on  the  following  morning,  enter  into  a  full 
explanation  with  her  betrothed.  Of  the  particulars 
of  that  conversation  I  was  made  aware  later. 

Punctually  at  twelve,  to  the  minute,  as  per 
agreement,  the  duke  entered  our  salon.  Evelyn  was 
alone.  She  was  very  pale,  but  calm  and  collected. 


134  THE   GROTTO   OF   EGEKIA. 

"  Mon  ami"  she  began,  "  I  wish  to  speak  to  you 
very  seriously." 

"Why  so,  anima  mia?"  (my  soul) — taking  her 
hand,  and  dropping  on  one  knee,  as  he  gallantly 
raised  the  jeweled  fingers  to  his  lips — "  why  should 
we  be  serious,  when  everything  smiles  on  our  pro- 
jected union  ?" 

"  Hush,  Balzano  !"  she  replied,  gently  withdraw 
ing  her  hand,  and  motioning  him  to  a  chair.  "  Lis- 
ten to  me  for  one  moment.  It  is  important  to  our 
happiness — indeed  it  is." 

Her  solemn  manner  alarmed  him  ;  for  the  ready 
tear  stood  in  his  dark  eyes,  and  he  said  sadly : 

"  I  see  it  all — you  do  not  love  me  !" 

"  Yes,  dear  friend — indeed — indeed  I  do.  I  think 
no  one  so  good,  so  noble,  so  devoted  as  you." 

"  Then   what  is  it,    cuore  mio  f"  (my  heart) — 


"  I  cannot !"  said  Evelyn,  blushing,  and  not  daring 
to  look  her  lover  in  the  face — for  she  knew  that  she 
was  deceiving  him — "  the  fact  is,  I  cannot  be  a 
Catholic  just  yet ;  I  should  not  like  to  confess." 

"  If  that  is  all,  lady  mine,"  said  Balzano,  again 
smiling,  "  it  can  soon  be  arranged.  Indeed,  what 
sins  shall  you  have  to  confess,  unless,  perhaps,"  and 
he  laughed — his  old  gay  laugh — "  you  intend  to 
like  some  one  better  than  your  husband  ?  " 


THE   GROTTO   OF    EQERIA.  135 

"  Dear  Balzano,  forgive  me,  and  let  me  have  my 
own  way  this  once — return  to  Naples,  and  let  me 
go  to  Paris.  I  can  profess  Catholicism  there  ;  and 
besides,  that  is  the  only  place  where  your  bride 
could  get  the  elegant  toilette  she  will  require  to  do 
you  honor.  Remember,  Signor  Duca,  I  shall  be  a 
Duchess." 

"  Take  your  own  way,  my  only  beloved  ;  I  will 
do  as  you  bid  me.  But,  ah  !  I  dread  leaving  you — 
1  have  a  presentiment  of  evil." 

He  flung  himself  on  his  knees  before  her  ;  and 
they  mingled  sobs  and  tears.  How  long  they  re- 
mained thus,  Evelyn  never  knew.  She  only  felt 
him  strain  her  for  a  moment  to  his  breast,  imprint 
a  kiss  on  her  brow,  and  then  he  was  gone ;  the  door 
closed  on  the  manly  form,  and  the  light  of  the  kind 
and  loving  face  no  longer  beamed  upon  her. 
They  never  met  on  earth  again. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

B  O  8  8  I  N  I  . 

THEY  never  met  on  earth  again.  In  this  world 
where  all  is  uncertain,  how  terrible  are  partings  I 
Which  of  us  can  utter  that  fatal  word,  farewell,  and 
not  feel  a  thrill  through  the  heart  of  indistinct  ter- 
ror—  a  vague  perhaps,  which  will  whisper,  who 
knows  but  that  mine  eyes  have  mirrored  for  the 
last  time  that  familiar  face,  that  loved  form !  that 
mine  ears  have  drank  in  for  the  last  time  the  music 
of  that  gentle  voice  !  It  is  fearful  on  what  "trifles 
light  as  air,"  hang  the  destiny  of  a  life.  A  glance, 
a  word  misconstrued,  may  forever  separate  those 
who  till  then,  were  fast  friends  ;  forever  banish  them 
from  out  of  our  life.  To  those  who  have  not  the 
consoling  hope  of  immortality  in  a  brighter  sphere, 
what  a  tangled,  hopeless  wilderness,  must  this  world 
appear.  And  yet  we  live  on ;  we  dress,  and  smile, 
and  mix  with  the  crowd  ;  we  hide  the  never  satis- 
fied yearnings  of  our  hearts  beneath  the  rich  tissues 


BOSSINI.  137 

of  lace  and  satin,  and  compress  the  sighs  of  the 
weary  bosom  with  bands  of  diamonds  and  pearls. 
Such  is  life. 

We  had  now  been  some  time  in  Paris — that  city 
of  fashion — where  not  to  be  Uen  hdbille  is  a  mortal 
sin.  There  neither  beauty  nor  talent  avail  with  a 
woman  unless  her  chapeau  be  from  Laure  or  Baud- 
reant,  and  her  robe  modelled  in  the  atelier  of 
Roger  or  Delphine.  If  in  addition,  ehe  be  hand- 
some and  agreeable,  so  much  the  better ;  but  even 
then,  the  first  salutation  would  certainly  be  from 
ladies,  and  very  probably  from  the  sterner  sex,  "  Ok, 
Madame,  quc  vous  etes  elegante  vous  avez  vraiment 
une  toilette  delicieuse." 

Evelyn  and  myself,  with  Ella,  who  was  now  grow- 
ing up,  used  occasionally  to  spend  our  evenings  in 
the  salon  of  Rossini,  to  whom  we  had  been  presented 
in  Florence,  and  who  was  now  settled  in  a  magnifi- 
cent apartment  in  the  Chaussee"  d'Antin.  Here  we 
met,  from  time  to  time,  all  the  celebrities  of  the 
artistic  world,  whether  of  music,  painting  or  the 
dance  ;  also  the  leading  journalists  and  musical  crit- 
ics of  the  day,  with  an  occasional  sprinkling  of  the 
oeau  monde. 

Rossini,  at  first  sight,  does  not  impose  upon  the 
mind  as  the  greatest  musical  genius  of  his  age,  and 
one  of  the  first  of  any  era.  You  behold  a  simple 


138  ROSSINI. 

t)ld  man,  somewhat  portly,  with  a  face  remarkable 
for  its  bonhomie.  The  features  fine,  forehead  high 
and  intellectual,  surmounted  by,  I  regret  to  say,  a 
very  ugly  wig  of  reddish  brown ;  withal  1,  a  fresh, 
but  not  red  co'mplexion,  of  which  any  much  younger 
man  might  be  proud.  He  looks  a  dear,  benevolent 
old  man,  who  would  greatly  enjoy  a  good  dinner, 
and  this,  in  fact,  is  the  case.  Such  would  be  a  first 
sight  judgment,  but  a  better  acquaintance  would 
show  that  the  benign  countenance  could  light  up 
with  the  sourire  Jin  and  the  malice  we  should  ex- 
pect to  find  in  the  author  of  the  first  and  best  of 
musical  comedies — the  ever  fresh,  the  peerless,  the 
immortal  "  Barbiere  di  Seviglia."  Rossini  has  ac- 
quired the  reputation  of  being  very  satirical — ill- 
naturedly  so.  Yet  it  is  not  the  case,  for  true  mod- 
esty, combined  with  real  talent,  could  never  meet 
with  a  kinder,  more  generous,  or  more  indulgent 
critic  than  in  him.  Unhappily,  however,  the  salon 
of  Rossini  is  besieged  by  a  crowd  of  know-nothings 
who  imagine  that  to  display  their  mediocre  acquire- 
ments before  this  great  man,  is  to  partake  in  some 
measure  of  his  genius.  Poor  fools  !  if  they  had  only 
seen,  as  I  have,  the  persecuted  composer  rub- 
bing his  head,  (a  habit  with  him  when  annoyed),  till 
his  very  wig  was  actually  turned  hind  before,  from 
sheer  nervous  excitement,  I  think,  I  say,  had  they 


ROSSINI.  139 

beheld  this,  even  shrill  sopranos  and  roaring  bari- 
tones, would  have  ceased  in  pity  from  the  remorse- 
less murders  they  were  perpetrating  upon  the  dear 
children  of  his  brain.  Once  I  remember,  when  a 
cruel  lady  had  worried  him  past  bearing,  and  add- 
ing insult  to  injury,  had  changed  almost  every  note 
in  his  aria,  and  worse  than  all.  expected  a  compli- 
ment from  her  victim,  the  maestro  advanced  to 
the  piano,  and  said  in  his  mild,  soft  voice,  "  Pray, 
madame,  who  is  the  composer  of  that  music  ?" 

On  another  occasion  he  observed  to  a  prima  don- 
na, whose  singing  was  more  remarkable  for  execu- 
tion than  expression,  "  Madame,  you  sing  with  won- 
derful agilite  ;  you  are  rapid  as  a  railway  train,  but 
you  know  I  am  afraid  of  railways." 

Here  let  me  remark  that  Kossini's  cowardice  is 
great  as  his  genius.  He  fears  everything — railways, 
the  sea,  illness;  more  than  all,  death.  The  idea  of 
the  latter  appears  to  embitter  all  his  life  ;  it  is  the 

"  One  shadow  that  throws. 
Its  bleak  shade  alike  o'er  his  joys  and  his  woes." 

He  has  no  religious  belief — no  hope  which  divests 
the  grave  of  its  terrors.  Rossini  confesses  to  being 
a  coward,  and  often  turns  the  laugh  against  himself. 
I  remember  with  what  humor  he  once  recounted  to 


140  BOSSINI. 

us  an  incident  of  his  early  youth.  He  was  at  Na- 
ples during  one  of  its  many  political  convulsions, 
and  was,  much  to  his  disgust,  made  a  "  garde  Na- 
tionale,"  and,  of  course,  expected  to  take  turns  of 
duty  with  the  others.  The  young  musician  excused 
himself  on  the  plea  of  his  well-known  want  of  cour- 
age. His  excuse,  however,  was  not  accepted.  Poor 
Gioacchino  was  equipped  en  militaire,  furnished 
with  a  musket,  and  ordered  into  the  sentry-box  to 
keep  guard. 

"  I  entered,"  said  Rossini,  "  and  remained  there 
ahout  an  hour,  trembling  in  every  limb.  At  last  I 
heard,  or  thought  I  heard,  footsteps.  I  laid  down 
my  musket  gently,  and  slipped  out  of  my  guerite, 
and  then  I  ran  as  fast  as  my  legs  could  carry  me, 
and  never  stopped  till  I  reached  home  and  was  safe 
under  the  blankets  in  my  bed.  In  the  morning  they 
put  me  under  arrest,  and  would  have  shot  me. — 
But,"  added  Rossini,  with  evident  pride,  "  I  escaped 
because  Twos  the  author  of  lll  Barbiere?  " 

The  father  of  the  young  genius  was  by  no  means 
remarkable  for  musical  talent.  He  used  to  play  the 
horn  in  the  orchestra  conducted  by  his  son.  One 
day  Papa  played  too  outrageously  false  to  escape 
censure. 

"  Who  is  that  bad  horn  ?"  said  young  Rossini,  pre- 
tending ignorance. 


EOS8INI.  141 

"It  is  I,  my  son,"  said  Rossini  pere. 

"  Then,  papa,  I  am  sorry,  but  you  must  leave  the 
orchestra." 

One  more  bon  mot  I  must  mention.  One 
evening,  on  our  return  from  the  performance 
of  "  La  Gazza  Ladra,"  at  the  Italian  Opera,  we  went 
to  pay  a  visit  to  the  Maestro.  Kossini  manifested 
the  most  perfect  indifference  as  regarded  the  vocal- 
ists, but  made  anxious  enquiries  as  to  the  way  in 
which  the  magpie  had  performed  her  part.  Many 
other  anecdotes  might  be  recounted,  but  here  we 
can  give  but  a  passing  notice  of  this  wonderful  man 
— wonderful  in  his  greatness,  and  scarcely  less  so  in 
his  weaknesses.  Usually  silent  in  general  society, 
it  is  in  a  ttte-d-tete  with  a  sympathetic  companion, 
that  Rossini  betrays  the  versatility  of  his  genius 
and  the  extent  of  his  information.  He  appears  con- 
versant with  all  subjects.  Notwithstanding  the  rich 
vein  of  humor  which  sparkles  in  his  music  and  in 
his  conversation,  Rossini,  like  Byron,  is  a  melan- 
choly man.  Nor  is  this  singular,  for  I  have  invari- 
ably found  that  the  wittiest  and  most  spirituel  are 
ever  the  saddest ;  and  those  who  press  to  their  lips 
with  the  keenest  relish  the  cup  of  pleasure,  when 
the  moments  of  excitement  and  intoxication  are  over, 
too  frequently  drain  to  the  very  dregs  the  chalice  of 
misery. 


142  BOSSINT. 

Kossini  was  much  attached  to  Evelyn,  her  re- 
markable musical  talents  and  profound  worship  of 
his  genius,  made  them  a  most  happy,  pair  of  friends. 
On  her  acquainting  him  with  her  possible  marriage 
with  the  Due  di  Balzano,  "  My  child,"  replied  the 
old  man,  "  Never  marry  except  for  one  of  three 
things :  a  great  name,  a  great  talent,  or  a  large  for- 
tune." 

'Tis  true  for  him  matrimony  had  offered  but  few 
attractions.  From  his  first  wife — Madame  Colbran 
— a  singer  of  undoubted  talent,  the  maestro  was 
soon  separated.  As  to  the  second,  let  us  respect 
her  name,  she  is  yet  living,  but  I  fear  she  conduces 
little  to  the  domestic  comfort  of  her  lord.  It  is 
remarkable  how  few  celebrities  of  either  sex  have 
been  happy  in  their  affections.  Commencing  with  So- 
crates and  his  Xantippe,  we  may  cite  Milton,  Shake- 
speare, Byron,  Dante,  Tasso,  Goethe,  Mrs.  Hemans, 
Mrs.  Norton,  and  a  crowd  of  others,  all  mis  matched 
or  crossed  in  love,  while  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jones,  and 
Tom  Smith  and  wife,  with  A  and  B,  and  numerous 
other  worthies,  whose  thoughts  are  centred  in 
pounds  or  dollars,  as  may  be,  and  their  multiplied 
progeny,  are  perfectly  content.  Is  it  that  they  have 
bodies  but  no  souls  to  satisfy  ?  or  doth  God  when 
he  confers  on  his  children  the  divine  gift  of  creative 
power,  ever  twine  with  thorns  the  laurel  wreath 


143 


which  encircles  their  noble  brow,  baptizing  them  for 
His  own  with  the  drops  of  agony  wrung  from  their 
hearts  ?  So  thought  and  so  feared  our  heroine,  and 
Rossini  confirmed  her  in  her  resolve  to  preserve  her 
liberty  for  the  present. 

Evelyn  had  continued  to  correspond  with  Balza- 
no,  but  still  repudiated  the  idea  of  marriage  on  the 
plea  that  she  could  not  at  present  conscientiously 
change  her  belief.  The  latter,  after  some  months, 
became,  very  naturally,  anxious  that  his  ladye-love 
should  come  to  some  decision,  and  to  enable  her 
to  do  so,  he  consented,  he  said,  to  her  remaining  a 
Protestant,  and  would,  on  receiving  her  reply,  at 
once  exert  his  interest  to  get  a  dispensation  from  tha 
Pope.  Thus  was  my  fair  friend  obliged  at  last 
either  to  accept  the  love  of  one  to  whom  she  felt 
unable  to  give  her  whole  heart,  or  to  lose  the  friend- 
ship, perhaps  forever,  of  the  man  she  esteemed  most 
on  earth — a  common  but  not  the  less  an  unpleasant 
dilemma.  Well,  what  did  she  do  ?  Why,  she  put 
off  answering  the  letter  as  long  as  she  could  ;  asked 
the  advice  of  all  her  friends  on  a  point  on  which  she 
alone  could  judge ;  and  after  having  consulted 
every  one  was  as  far  from  a  decision  as  ever. 

Evelyn,  like  all  very  impressionable  people,  was 
apt  to  be  greatly  influenced  by  her  surroundings  ;  yet 
was  she  not  inconstant.  She  would  forget,  for  the 


144  Rossnsn. 

moment,  and  appear  to  be  utterly  free  from  all 
thought  of  the  absent;  but  the  excitement  past, 
she  would  return  with  deeper  passion  to  the  memo- 
ries of  by-gone  days.  As  yet,  no  one  had  approached 
Balzano  in  her  heart.  He  still  reigned  alone — 
manly,  noble,  tender,  the  kind  protector,  the  devo- 
ted friend;  and  yet  she  hesitated  to  make  him 
happy,  and,  I  must  add,  to  be  happy  herself — for 
what  woman  could  be  otherwise  with  such  a  man  ? 

Another  letter,  still  more  pressing,  came  from  the 
now  anxious  lover.  Was  his  friend  sick  ?  in  trou- 
ble ?  She  was  but  to  say  one  word.  He  would  fly 
to  her — to  her  he  must  love  till  the  pulses  of  life 
ceased  to  beat — his  bride,  his  soul,  his  delight. 

I  found  Evelyn  in  tears,  with  the  open  letter  in 
her  hand.  "  I  will  certainly  write  to-morrow,"  she 
said. 


CHAPTER    XYII. 

THE      8TAK      OF      DESTINY. 

THE  to-morrow  of  our  good  intentions,  sometimes, 
it  may  be  frequently,  never  dawns.  On  this  par- 
ticular to-morrow,  according  to  Parisian  custom,  we 
were  to  be  at  home  to  our  friends. 

Our  morning  was  devoted  to  the  duties  of  the 
toilet  and  those  of  the  menage.  There  was  a  duett 
to  be  practiced  for  piano  and  harp  by  myself  and 
Ella,  who  now  played  that  graceful  instrument  with 
exquisite  taste.  She  was  also  to  accompany  her 
mother  on  the  harp,  in  the  lovely  romance  and 
prayer  from  Rossini's  Otello,  by  particular  request 
of  the  Maestro  himself.  Evelyn  received  well. 
Her  salon  was  much  frequented  by  artistes  and 
men  of  letters ;  and  a  few  charming  female  friends 
added  greatly  to  the  brilliancy  of  these  reunions. 

A  thorough  musician  herself,  she  had  a  perfect  hor- 
ror of  the  usual  style  of  amateur  singing ;  and  no 
one  was  permitted,  at  her  house,  to  display  their 


146  THE   STAR   OF   DESTINY. 

mediocrity  at  the  expense  of  the  nerves  of  the  com- 
pany. 

Our  apartment  was  situate  in  the  Avenue  Gabriel 
— to  my  taste,  the  most  delightful  location  in  Paris. 
Near,  yet  not  actually  in,  the  Champs  Elysees,  it 
combines  cheerfulness  and  gaiety  with  privacy  and 
retirement.  Our  apartment  was  au  rez  de  chaussee 
(on  the  ground  floor),  all  the  rooms,  as  is  usual  in 
Paris,  en  suite.  It  had  been  furnished  with  remark- 
able taste  by  a  Russian  Princess,  who,  being  sud- 
denly recalled  by  the  Czar,  was  glad  to  let  her 
apartment  to  English  ladies — on,  to  us,  most  advan- 
tageous terms.  We  were,  therefore,  lodged  as  few 
strangers  may  hope  to  be.  The  suite  of  rooms  were 
now  thrown  open,  and  brilliantly  lighted — all  ex- 
cept Evelyn's  boudoir,  which  led  into  the  conserva- 
tory, and  in  which  reigned  a  subdued  light,  inviting 
to  lovers  or  to  those  who  prefer  to  muse  in  soli- 
tude and  watch  the  crowd  from  afar.  At  present, 
all  were  congregated  in  the  salon,  around  the  fair 
hostess,  who  herself  looked  like  a  queen  surrounded 
by  her  court. 

"  Ah  !  ma  chere"  exclaimed  a  pretty  vivacious  lit- 
tle marquise,  perfumed  like  a  rose,  as  only  a  French 
woman  can  be — "  your  soiree  is  really  charming — 
delicious — but  pardon  me,  there  are  two  things,  or 


THE   8TAK   OF   DESTINY.  147 

rather  persons,  wanting  to  make  your  reunion  per- 
fect." 

"Indeed,"  replied  Evelyn,  smiling;  "and  pray, 
who  may  these  be  ?" 

"Nay,  you  must  guess,"  rejoined  another  fair 
lady  of  the  party  ;  "  for,  at  present,  those  two  per- 
sons are  indispensible  in  the  beau  monde." 

"  Perhaps,"  suggested  Evelyn,  "  you  mean  my 
dear  friend  Rossini  ?" 

"  Oh !  no ;  we  are  all  aware  he  is  quite  a  her- 
mit." 

* '  The  Emperor,  perhaps,  and  the  peerless  Castig- 
lione?" 

"Neither,  I  assure  you,"  persisted  the  pretty 
marquise. 

"  Well,  Wagner,  the  *  musician  of  the  future.'  " 

"Madame,  you  surprise  me,"  said  a  beautiful 
Spanish  countess,  advancing  into  the  circle — "you 
a  dam-e  du  grand  monde,  and  not  to  have  heard  of 
the  great  magician  par  exemple  /" 

"  And  who,  pray,  may  that  be,  countess  ?" 

"Oh!"  drawled  an  Englishman,  "the  man  who  calls 
up  the  devil,  and  made  Napoleon  come  out  of  his 
tomb  and  sign  his  name,  or  something  of  that  sort." 

"  And,"  added  another,  "  frightened  poor  Euge- 
nie out  of  her  wits." 

"  No  very  difficult  matter,  either,"  growled  an  old 


148  THE   STAR   OF   DESTINY. 

legitimist  with  a  brown  wig,  "  considering  how  few 
wits  she  has,  if  report  speak  true." 

"  Fi  done,  monsieur"  or  "  not  so  bad,"  chimed  in 
the  audience  at  this  rather  obvious  witticism  in 
every  sense. 

"I  suppose,"  said  Evelyn  "you  mean  Home,  the 
Medium.  We  are,  I  believe,  to  meet  him  next 
week.  So  your  swan,  Madame  la  Marquise,  has 
turned  out  to  be  a  goose,  after  all.  And  now  for 
that  other,  without  whom  no  party  is  complete." 

"  That,  madame,"  said  a  young  Frenchman,  full 
of  conceit  and  affectation,  "  is  a  long-bony  American, 
about  whom,  it  appears,  all  the  ladies  are  raving — 
though,  ma  foi,  I  cannot  imagine  what  for,  except 
that  they  say  he  is  enormously  rich." 

"  Precisely  so,"  said  the  perfumed  little  marquise, 
"but  monsieur  is  jealous,  for  my  Yankee  is  very 
handsome,  but  disdainful,  a  briser  le  coeur — Mon- 
sieur D'Arcy." 

"  D'Arcy,"  exclaimed  Evelyn,  "  I  expect  him  here 
to-night.  Madame  de  Villiers  has  requested  per- 
mission to  present  him,  and " 

At  this  moment  the  folding  doors  were  thrown 
open,  and  a  charming  and  aristocratic  looking  elder- 
ly lady,  richly  but  simply  attired,  entered  leaning 
on  the  arm  of  a  gentleman,  whom  she  presented 
with  much  empressetnent  to  the  lady  of  the  house. 


THE   STAR   OF   DESTINY.  149 

"Talk  of  his  Satanic  Majesty,"  whispered  the 
Englishman,  while  a  smile  might  be  perceived  on 
more  than  one  pair  of  rosy  lips,  as  the  unconscious 
object  of  all  this  persiflage  advanced  into  the 
charmed  circle  and  gracefully  paid  his  devoirs  to  its 
presiding  genius. 

Philip  D'Arcy  was  one  of  those  rarely  endowed 
beings  who,  at  first  sight,  impress  you  with  a  sense 
of  power — you  feel  you  are  in  the  presence  of  one 
born  to  command.  Where  this  moral  force  is  com- 
bined with  magnetic  influence,  or  odic  affinity,  if  you 
please  so  to  term  that  irresistible  attraction  we  all 
have  felt,  more  or  less  at  times,  then  the  fascination 
of  such  a  being  is  irresistible.  He  can  draw  you 
according  to  the  degree  of  your  sensitive  nature,  in- 
to his  sphere,  as  into  a  vortex.  Nor  can  you  escape. 
— Fatal  gift,  if  dissevered  from  heart  and  principle ! 

Mr.  D'Arcy  may  have  been  about  thirty  ;  slight- 
ly above  the  medium  stature,  his  erect  and  lofty 
bearing  gave  the  idea  of  greater  height  than  he  ac- 
tually possessed.  But  for  this  too — the  extreme 
delicacy  of  his  form,  (a  defect  common  to  the  trans- 
atlantic race  of  the  Northern  States),  might  perhaps, 
have  been  considered  as  somewhat  detracting  from 
the  manliness  of  his  appearance.  To  say  that  the 
features  were  chiselled,  were  little.  Intellect  sat 
enthroned  on  the  regal  brow,  and  the  deep  set  eyes 


150  THE   STAR   OF   DESTINY. 

—calm,  blue,  and  unfathomable  as  the  ocean — 
seemed  the  fitting  mirror  of  "  the  human  soul  di- 
vine." The  lips  firmly  closed,  pale,  and  somewhat 
severe  in  their  habitual  expression,  could,  neverthe- 
less, occasionally  wear  a  smile  of  rare  beauty.  The 
complexion,  white  as  Parian  marble,  harmonized 
well  with  the  crisply  curling  locks,  and  the  full 
beard,  of  that  cold,  brown  tint,  which  almost  uni- 
versally accompanies  the  refined  style  of  male  beau- 
ty. Mr.  D'Arcy  engaged  Evelyn  in  that  light  con- 
versation which,  well  talked,  has  so  much  charm, 
and  beneath  which  occasionally  runs  a  vein  of  the 
deepest  sentiment  or  the  richest  humor.  But  the 
tete-a-tete  was  not  of  long  duration. 

Most  pressing  entreaties  drew  our  heroine  to  the 
harp,  before  which  Ella  was  seated,  having  already 
commenced  the  exquisite  accompaniment  which 
preludes  the  "  willow  song"  of  the  gentle  Desdemo- 
na.  Ella  was  now  in  her  fifteenth  year.  The  warm 
sun  of  Italy  had  almost  visibly  ripened  the  child  of 
a  year  since  into  premature  womanhood.  Though 
of  a  form  so  slight  as  to  appear  almost  etherial,  she 
was  already  taller  than  her  mother,  and  so  pure  was 
her  girlish  beauty,  so  infantine  her  air  of  candid  in- 
nocence, you  might  have  fancied  her  the  youngest 
and  loveliest  of  the  nymphs  of  Diana.  Her  small, 
Grecian  head  seemed  actually  bending  under  the 


THE   STAR   OF   DESTINY.  151 

•weight  of  the  rich  masses  of  soft,  blond  hair,  which 
formed  a  triple  crown  above  the  classic  brow,  and 
fastened  in  a  knot  behind,  fell  in  a  luxuriance  of 
clustering  curls  to  the  slender  throat. 

Though  like  in  feature,  Ella  formed  a  striking 
contrast  to  her  mother  ;  and  for  the  first  time  I  con- 
fessed that  it  were  difficult  to  decide  which  might 
bear  the  palm,  the  dazzling  beauty  and  ever-varying 
expression  of  the  still  young  matron,  or  the  timid, 
retiring  loveliness  of  the  girl.  The  one  appeared 
as  a  royal  rose,  in  all  her  splendor  ;  the  other,  a  ten- 
der bud,  shrinking  even  from  the  kiss  of  the  sun- 
beam— the  former,  a  gorgeous  tropical  plant,  whose 
rare  beauty  can  only  be  equalled  by  its  fragrance  ; 
the  latter,  a  sweet  and  modest  lily,  hiding  amid 
its  leaves  in  the  greenest  and  most  sequestered 
dell,  haunted  alone  by  fairy  footsteps. 

Evelyn  had  never  sung  so  well.  The  rich  tones 
of  her  voice  vibrated  with  sentiment,  as  she  por- 
trayed the  sorrows  of  the  loving  but  forsaken  wife. 
The  audience  forgot  to  applaud,  (the  greatest  com- 
pliment that  can  be  paid  to  a  singer.)  The  lovely 
minstrel's  own  eyea  were  humid  with  emotion. 
Ella  looked  a  coldness  she  perhaps  did  not  feel. 
Mr.  D'Arcy  advanced  to  the  harp. 

"Madame,"  he  said,  "  compliment  to  you  would 
be  misplaced.  The  genius  of  Rossini  has  found  in 


152  THE   STAB   OF   DESTINY. 

your  own  a  worthy  interpreter.  You  have  sang  as 
he  must  have  desired  in  his  moments  of  deepest  in- 
spiration— when  the  ideal  descending  embraced  the 
real.  Nay," — as  she  prepared  to  disclaim  the  praise 
so  delicious  to  a  true  artiste,  from  one  whose  taste 
and  judgment  is  felt  to  be  unimpeachable — "  nay, 
fairest  songstress," — and  he  smiled  that  smile  of 
rare  fascination  which  thrilled  to  the  very  inmost  of 
her  being — "  if  I  have  praised,  it  is  because  I  have 
felt  the  pathos  of  those  sympathetic  tones,  the  poe- 
try breathing  through  each  phrase  of  melody,  and 
I,"  he  added,  as  if  to  himself,  "  so  rarely  indulge  in 
the  luxury  of  emotion.  But  pray,  Mrs.  Travers, 
present  me  to  the  young  lady  who  has  so  ably  sec- 
onded you." 

"To  my  daughter?  Certainly — she  is  but  a  child. 
Ella,  dearest,  Mr.  D'Arcy  would  make  your  ac- 
quaintance." 

The  young  girl  bent  to  the  salutation  of  the 
stranger,  and  a  blush  of  the  softest  pink  overspread 
features,  throat  and  arms,  reaching  even  to  the 
ends  of  the  taper  fingers,  as  she  timidly  replied  in 
monosyllables  to  the  few  words  of  common- place 
civility  he  addressed  to  her. 


CHAPTEE 


A.      SERIOUS      CHAPTER. 

ONE  morning  about  a  fortnight  after  Evelyn's  last 
evening  reception,  Mr.  D'Arcy  was  announced. 

"  I  take  the  liberty,"  said  he,  "  of  intruding  on  a 
day  that  I  know  you  are  not  at  home  to  all 
the  world,  in  the  hope  of  escaping  the  usual  toilette 
talk  at  ladies'  receptions." 

"  We  are  happy  to  see  you,  on  your  own  terms, 
Mr.  D'Arcy  —  the  more  so,  as  the  part  of  the  hostess 
is  rather  an  ungrateful  one.  She  is  forced  to  con- 
verse chiffons,  and  other  frivolities,  when  she 
would  perhaps  prefer  to  philosophize,  if  ladies  ever 
dare  appear  so  blue." 

"  It  is  for  this,"  replied  he,  "  that  I  dislike  lady's 
'  days?  One  can  never  approach  the  mistress  of 
the  house  herself,  except  to  make  some  common- 
place observation  about  the  weather,  the  opera,  the 
*  premiere  representation  '  at  the  Varietes  —  gui 
fait  fn  with  a  French  shrug  of  the  shoulders. 


154  A   SERIOUS    CHAPTER. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  D'Arcy,  in  pity  do  not  imitate  the 
French  at  my  house,"  exclaimed  Evelyn.  "  If  you 
only  knew  how  their  manners — half-monkey,  half- 
hairdresser — annoy  me." 

"  Madame,  I  stand  rebuked,"  with  a  mock  respect- 
ful bow ;  "  but  seriously,  though  it  is  treason  to 
say  it  in  so  fairy-like  a  bower,  my  visit  to-day  is 
rather  on  business  than  pleasure.  I  come  as  ambas- 
sador from  Mme.  de  Yilliers  to  endeavor  to  per- 
suade you,  ladies,  to  come  to  her  this  evening,  and 
meet  Home,  the  wonder-working  medium,  about 
whom  all  Paris  is  talking." 

"Forestalled,"  exclaimed  Evelyn,  gaily;  "we 
were  initiated  yesterday  into  some  of  those  weird 
doings,  at  the  house  of  an  English  lady." 

"  Indeed,"  said  D'Arcy,  with  evident  interest — 
"  and  what,  may  I  ask,  did  you  witness  ?" 

"  Well,  we  placed  ourselves  in  a  circle  of  about 
nine  persons,  and  in  a  few  minutes  we  heard  raps ; 
by  the  alphabet,  we  were  requested  to  remove  the 
lights,  and  after  we  had  done  so,  an  accordeon, 
which  was  lying  on  the  table,  '  discoursed  most 
excellent  music,'  no  one  touching  it.  Then,  by  the 
dim  light,  we  perceived  a  hand,  white  and  beauti- 
fully formed — and  this  hand  presented  me  with  a 
real  geranium,  and  others  of  the  circle  with  differ- 
ent flowers." 


A   SERIOUS   CHAPTER.  155 

"  You  are,  then,  favorably  disposed  toward  the 
subject  of  spiritualism  ?"  enquired  D'Arcy. 

"All  I  saw  has  deeply  impressed  me,"  replied 
Evelyn  ;  u  and  I  cannot  think  it  altogether  a  delu- 
sion, for  I  distinctly  felt  in  my  fingers  the  vibration 
of  the  table  before  each  rap,  and  frequently  knew 
the  answer  about  to  be  made  by  the  (so-called) 
spirits,  to  questions  asked  by  members  of  the  cir- 
cle." 

"  Ah  !  then  you  must  yourself  be  a  medium?" 

"  Delightful  !  There  is  nothing  I  should  like 
better.  You  must  explain  to  us  these  mys- 
teries, and  convert  my  friend  there  also,  for  she 
is  a  sad  infidel." 

"  I  suppose,"  I  rejoined,  "  I  am  too  niatter-of-fact, 
and  have  too  little  imagination  to  be  caught  by 
what  I  cannot  but  consider  as  a  mere  trick  to  amuse 
children,  and  utterly  unworthy  rational  beings, 
whether  in  or  out  of  the  body." 

"  Pardon  me,  Miss  Mildrnay,"  said  D'Arcy,  "but 
if  these  knockings,  which  appear  to  you  so  puerile, 
have  been  tested  and  proved  not  to  be  tricks,  and 
that  such  and  similar  manifestations  have  been  the 
means  of  convincing  the  confirmed  sceptic  that 
there  is  an  actual  hereafter,  it  appears  to  me  that  the 
spirits  of  the  departed  are  rather  occupied  in  a  good 


156  A   BEBIOUS   CHAPTER. 

work,  and  that  we  have  at  least  *  method  in  our 
madness.' " 

"  But,"  I  answered,  "  surely  the  Bible  is  all-suffi- 
cient for  the  salvation  of  the  world." 

"  No  one,  my  dear  Miss  Mildmay,"  replied 
D'Arcy,  "  reveres  the  Bible  more  than  myself — yet 
I  am  bound  to  confess  it  never  convinced  me.  Till 
my  eyes  were  opened  to  the  perception  that  spirit 
really  does  exist,  palpably,  apart  from  matter,  the 
Bible  was  to  me  as  a  sealed  book.  In  earlier 
youth,  I  worshipped  as  my  deity  the  intellect  of 
man,  smiling  in  contempt  at  the  idea  of  a  blind  faith 
in  the  mysteries  of  Religion,  which  I  looked  upon 
as  the  foolish  inventions  of  a  venal  and  ignorant 
priesthood.  It  was  through  the  much  despised 
manifestations  of  the  spirit  circle,  that  I  first  real- 
ized the  '  certain  hope  of  a  blessed  immortality,' 
and  learned  to  bow  my  reason  before  the  Divine  in- 
spirations— in  fine,  1  believed." 

D'Arcy  spoke  with  the  deepest  feeling,  but  calm- 
ly, and  as  a  man  whose  doubts  were  for  ever  at 
rest.  You  recognized  in  each  word  the  power  of  a 
great  mind,  and  instead  of  wishing  to  cavil,  you  felt 
your  place  was  rather  to  sit  at  his  feet  and  learn. 

"  One  question  I  would  ask,"  said  Evelyn. — 
"  Might  not  these  phenomena  be  produced  by  mag- 


A   8EKIOU8  CHAPTER.  157 

netic  influence,  and  so  be  accounted  for  in  a  merely 
natural  way  ?" 

"  Undoubtedly,  Mrs.  Travers.  Human  magnet- 
ism and  the  will-power  are  almost  omnipotent  as 
physical  forces,  and  also  as  influencing  the  mental 
faculties  ;  but  the  communications  being  not  only 
intelligent,  but  actually  and  frequently  even  con- 
trary to  the  desires  and  expectations  of  the  circle, 
precludes  the  idea  of  entirely  accounting  for  them, 
in  the  way  you  have  very  plausibly  suggested.  Be- 
sides, the  phenomena  of  direct  writing  and  drawing 
could  be  explained  by  no  other  theory  than  that  of 
supernatural  intervention.  Electric  shocks,  too, 
have  been  sensibly  felt,  and  exquisite  odours  have 
filled  the  room — and  this  in  the  presence  of  wit- 
nesses, many  of  them  men  of  superior  learning,  in- 
telligence, and  undoubted  piety,  who  would  not  for 
worlds  have  been  made  the  instruments  of  propa- 
gating fraudulent  or  erroneous  doctrines." 

"  If  you  have  personally  witnessed  all  you  speak 
of,"  I  said,  "  I  confess  that  even  my  incredulity 
must  at  last  give  way  before  such  evidence." 

"  Gently,  Miss  Mildmay,"  interposed  D'Arcy.  "  I 
desire  that  each  and  every  one  may  see  and  judge 
for  themselves,,  feel  ing  convinced  that  no  person  of 
average  mental  powers,  having  investigated  the 
subject  fairly  and  with  candor,  could  continue  a 


158  A   SERIOUS   CHAPTER. 

sceptic.  To  assist  you,  however,  in  your  research, 
let  me  recommend  to  your  notice  '  Owen's  Footfalls 
on  the  Boundaries  of  Another  World.'  Likewise  the 
works  of  Andrew  Jackson  Davis.  Also,  the  'Arca- 
na of  Christianity,'  by  the  Rev.  T.  L.  Harris,  and 
the  eloquent  and  spiritual  discourses  of  the  latter 
author;  lastly,  a  gem  of  beauty,  a  perfect  string 
of  pearls,  the  '  Foreglearns  of  Immortality,'  by  Sears. 
This  latter  work,  with  those  of  Mr.  Harris,  are  writ- 
ten in  the  very  spirit  of  true  Biblical  and  catholic 
Christianity,  untrammelled  by  the  narrow-minded- 
ness of  sectarianism.  Read  these  books,  not  for- 
getting to  breathe  a  prayer  for  light,  attend  some 
circles,  and  I  think  in  six  months  from  this  time 
you  will  tell  me  that  you  are  really  '  born  again, 
and  a  new  creature,'  so  different  will  be  your 
views  of  the  infinite  destinies  of  the  divine  human 
spirit — so  shadowy  will  appear  the  present,  so  real, 
so  near  the  future." 

I  looked  at  him,  struck  with  the  in  tenseness  of 
his  manner — his  large,  blue,  serious  eyes,  filled 
with  the  far-off  look,  of  those  whose  spirits  live  in 
perpetual  communion  with  the  inner  world.  Like 
Ananias,  it  appeared  to  me  that  scales  fell  from  the 
eyes  of  my  soul,  and  I  began  to  see  things  for  the 
first  time  in  their  true  light.  Evelyn  also  was 


A   SERIOUS   CHAPTER.  159 

deeply  impressed ;  after  a  pause   of  emotion,   she 
was  the  first  to  break  silence. 

"  May  I  ask,"  she  said,  "  what  first  induced  you, 
with  your  manly  intellect  and  infidel  sympathies, 
to  take  sufficient  interest  in  this  subject  to  attend  a 
circle? — for  if  I  judge  you  aright,  curiosity  alone 
would  scarcely  have  drawn  you  there." 

"You  have  justly  divined,  Mrs.  Travers,  and  I 
will  tell  you  all." 

He  paused,  and  then  resumed  with  deep  and 
touching  emotion — 

"  A  young  girl,  whom  I  loved,  God  knows  how 
fondly,  was  taken  from  me  in  the  bloom  of  youth, 
and  on  the  eve  of  marriage,  by  a  fearful  accident, 
which  left  her  not  a  vestige  of  beauty — burned  to 
death,"  he  said,  with  a  shudder.  "  A  confirmed  in- 
fidel, with  no  hope — crushed,  tortured,  maddened 
by  the  idea  that  she  was  lost  to  me  forever,  I  cursed 
my  cruel  fate,  and  should  have  put  an  end  to  a 
hateful  existence,  had  not  pride  whispered,  *  Do  not 
be  mastered  by  your  destiny ;  conquer  it — live/ 
And  I  lived.  At  this  time,  I  heard  much  of  the 
Miss  Foxes,  and  of  the  wonderful  things  occurring 
in  their  presence.  An  impression  I  could  not  shake 
off  led  me  to  their  house.  In  bitter  mockery,  I 
asked  myself,  Am  I  insane  ?  I  went  to  scoff— be  it 
said — but  returned  to  pray.  A  communication 


160  A   SERIOUS   CHAPTER. 

came  thus  by  raps—'  Do  not  mourn  for  me,  Philip. 
I  am  happy  now.  I  was  taken  from  you,  because 
you  enveloped  your  soul  in  pride  as  in  a  mantle. 
Dear  Philip  !  you  must  become  as  a  little  child. 

" '  LILIAN.' 

"  Imagine  my  surprise ;  for  I  was  in  a  strange 
city,  where  none  knew  me.  I  am  not  ashamed  to  con- 
fess, that  tears,  foreign  to  my  nature,  came  unbidden 
to  my  eyes,  and  the  prayer  arose  to  my  lips — 
1  Teach  me  the  truth,  Oh  !  God.'  That  prayer,  dear 
friends,  has  been  answered.  Since  that  time  I  have 
been  happy  ;  for  I  now  look  at  this  life  in  the  light 
of  the  other." 

"  'Tis  a  beautiful  faith,"  said  Evelyn,  "  that  our 
loved  ones  are  still  about  our  path — our  guardian 
angels,  perhaps." 

"It  is  a  faith  I  would  not  lose,"  said  D'Arcy, 
"  for  worlds  of  untold  wealth." 

He  drew  from  his  neck  a  delicate  hair  chain, 
with  a  locket  attached.  Touching  a  spring,  we 
peceived  the  miniature  of  a  beautiful  young  girl. 
"  That  portrait,"  said  D'Arcy,  "  was  painted  by  a 
spirit  medium,  after  my  Lilian  had  passed  away — it 
is  her  very  self — but  spiritualized." 

"  How  exquisitely  lovely  !"  I  exclaimed. 

"  Heavens !  how  like  Ella !"  cried  Evelyn. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

.  LEAVES   FROM   A   LADY'S   DIAKT. 


March  13£A.  —  I  have,  of  late,  greatly  neglected 
my  journal,  not  from  want  of  time,  neither  for  lack 
of  incident  nor  material  for  thought  and  feeling  — 
rather  the  reverse. 

Since  my  last  musical  reception,  I  have  not  pen- 
ned one  line.  Oh  !  that  night  is  a  kind  of  era  in 
my  life.  I  then  made  the  acquaintance  of  a  remark- 
able man  —  perhaps  the  most  uncommon  person  I 
ever  met.  It  is  not  only  that  he  is  very,  very  hand- 
some, nor  highly  intellectual,  nor  most  refined  in 
manners  —  it  is  that,  over  and  above  all  these  quali- 
fications, he  possesses,  in  a  wonderful  degree,  the 
power  of  attraction  —  magnetism,  if  you  will  —  the 
je  ne  sais  quoi  of  the  French.  You  forget  self  in 
his  presence,  and  think  of  him  only.  I  cannot 
analyze  my  feelings.  I  only  know,  that,  as  the  soft 
and  musical  tones  of  that  voice  fell  on  my  ear,  as  I 
felt  the  magic  of  that  glance  in  my  inmost  soul,  the 


162  LEAVES   FROM   A   LADY's   DIAET. 

words  uttered  bj  Lady  Caroline  Lamb,  when  first 
she  beheld  Byron,  came  unbidden  to  my  memory, 
and  seemed  to  me  as  a  foreboding  of  sorrow — 

"That  pale  face  is  my  fate !" 

I  murmured,  as  a  vague  terror  crept  over  me. 

On  the  morning  we  received  Mr.  D'Arcy's  first 
visit — Mary  and  myself — our  conversation  turned 
upon  spiritual  manifestations.  I  sat  and  listened — 
for  my  own  experience  and  the  clairvoyant  powers 
of  Ella  had  long  since  set  me  wondering.  D'Arcy, 
it  appears,  is  a  firm  believer.  He  recounted  to  us 
the  circumstances  which  led  to  his  conversion. 
Lilian — what  a  sweet  name  !  Ah !  instead  of  pity- 
ing, I  almost  envied  her.  Did  he  not  say  that  he 
had  loved  her  fondly — that  he  still  wore  her  minia- 
ture next  his  heart  ?  Happy  Lilian !  Would  I 
could  change  with  thee — to  have  drained  the  cup 
of  intoxicating  bliss  to  the  dregs,  and  then  to  die, 
to  pass  away  in  the  freshness  of  youth — hopes  un- 
deceived— trust  unshaken — loving,  beloved,  regret- 
ted, happy  Lilian  !  See  the  reverse,  fair  spirit,  and 
pity  poor  Evelyn's  far  sadder  fate  !  Behold  her  as 
the  wretched  wife  of  one  totally  unsuited  to  her — 
then,  as  the  murderess  of  the  noble,  the  lovrng  Regi- 
nald— lastly,  as  the  faithless  betrothed  of  the  gener- 
ous-hearted Balzano  ;  and  wherefore  ?  Because  she 


163 


is  not  of  the  happy  "few,  who  find  what  they  love 
or  could  have  loved,"  and  who,  therefore,  are  influ- 
enced through  life  by  "  accident,  blind  contact,  and 
the  strong  necessity  of  loving"  —  that  touchstone  of 
woman's  weakness  and  folly. 


.—  My  Ella's  birthday.  She  is  now  fifteen, 
and  in  the  eyes  of  a  partial  mother,  the  loveliest  of 
God's  feminine  creation.  Mr.  D'Arcy  brought  her 
a  bouquet  of  the  most  priceless  hot-house  flowers  of 
the  purest  white  —  emblematic,  he  said,  of  her  ethe- 
rial  nature.  How  good  of  him  to  think  of  her. 
Though  but  a  child,  she  doubtless  reminds  him  of 
his  Lilian.  I  have  observed  those  limpid  and  un- 
fathomable eyes  of  his  fixed  upon  her  more  than 
once  in  silent  contemplation.  He  is  now  a  frequent 
visitor  —  perhaps  too  frequent.  There  are  flowers  so 
fair,  fruits  so  tempting,  that  we  forget  the  danger 
which  lurks  within.  We  inhale  their  perfume  ;  wo 
press  to  our  lips  their  luscious  juice,  and  we  perish. 

31st.  —  The  first  mild  day  of  spring.  The  air  from 
the  conservatory  enters  laden  with  the  breath  of 
flowers.  I  feel  the  blood  pulsating  in  my  veins 
with  unusual  ardor.  There  is  a  bouquet  of  Parma 
violets  by  my  side,  sent  by  him.  Their  perfume 
inebriates  my  senses;  an  indefinable  charm  pene- 


164:  LEAVES   FROM   A   LADy's   DIAEY. 

trates  my  whole  being.  If,  after  all,  he  loves  me  ! 
Oh  !  hush  !  foolish  heart  be  still.  Such  happiness 
is  not  for  earth.  And  yet,  I  think  he  is  not  indif- 
ferent. Friendship  from  him  is  preferable  to  love 
from  another — yes,  it  would  content  me.  But  then, 
friends  part,  to  meet  again  God  alone  knows  when. 
This  is  terrible;  and  what  is  friendship  when  love 
intervenes,  for  another.  Oh  !  that  thought  is  tor- 
ture. Why,  what  an  ingenious  self-tormentor  am  I. 
Why  search  the  possible  future  to  embitter  the  hap- 
py reality  of  the  present.  If  the  worst  comes  I  can 
die — no,  WE  CANNOT  DIB,  we  live  ;  live  forever  with 
an  eternal  passion  in  the  heart,  when  we  make  of  a 
mere  mortal  the  "  god  of  our  idolatry." 

April  15th. — This  evening,  it  being  my  reception 
day,  and  a  few  intimates  having  collected  in  our 
salon,  the  conversation  turned  upon  love  and  jeal- 
ousy. 

"  I  cannot,"  observed  D'Arcy,  "  understand  the 
simultaneous  existence  of  these  two  passions  in  one 
bosom." 

"  How,"  cried  one  of  the  party,  "  has  not  jealousy 
been  termed  the  '  child  of  insatiate  love  ?'  " 

w  Nay,  rather,"  rejoined  D'Arcy,  "  has  not  Ten- 
nyson more  aptly  described  this  passion  as  '  dead 


LEAVES   FROM    A   LADY'S   DIARY.  165 

love's  harsh  heir  jealous  pride.'  Where  true  love 
exists,  believe  me,  there  can  be  no  jealousy." 

"Ah !"  I  exclaimed,  and  I  felt  the  warm  blood 
mount  to  my  temples,  "  Mr.  D'Arcy  is  right.  True 
love  must  be  based  on  esteem,  and  cannot,  there- 
fore, live  without  perfect  confidence." 

"  Yon  have  divined  me,"  said  D'Arcy,  with  that 
smile  of  rare  sweetness  peculiar  to  him  ;  "jealousy 
originates  in  mistrust,  and  is,  therefore,  an  insult 
when  unfounded." 

"  But  supposing  you  had  cause,"  said  another  of 
the  circle. 

"  Then,"  replied  he,  with  an  almost  stern  severity, 
"  I  should  no  longer  love." 

"Ah !  ah  !  monsieur,"  said  a  pretty  little  French- 
woman, "  I  differ,  quite.  As  for  me,  I  am  jealous ; 
as  a  wolf — a  tiger." 

A  general  laugh  followed  this  innocent  and  truly 
French  sally,  from  all  but  D'Arcy,  who  bowing  pro- 
foundly, and  with  an  air  of  inimitable  mock  humil- 
ity, said : 

"  Then,  madame,  I  am  most  unhappy,  for  I  can 
never  make  love  to  you." 

"  This  is  growing  too  serious,"  I  said  ;  "  let  me 
introduce  to  you,  Mr.  D'Arcy,  as  a  poet,  and  my 
friend,  Miss  Mildmay,  as  a  musician  second  only  to 


166  LEAVES   FROM   A   LADY'S   DIARY. 

Rossini.     Ella  will  sing  you  a  song  of  their  joint 
composition.     It  is  really  charming." 

I  here  transcribe  the  words,  which,  with  the  mu- 
sic, met  with  great  success  : 

THE   SPIRIT   OF   LOVE. 

My  spirit  dwelleth  in  myrtle  bowers, 

Where  the  breezes  wax  faint  with  the  perfume  of  flowers, 

And  the  queen  rose  blushes  a  brighter  hue, 

As  I  shed  o'er  her  leaves,  the  early  dew. 

On  a  sunbeam  I  sit  enthron'd  in  light, 

And  chase  with  my  wand  the  shades  of  night, 

And  oft  beneath  the  moon's  pale  beam 

I  weave  with  sweet  fancies  the  maiden's  dream. 

Deep  in  the  woods,  the  nightingale 

Telleth  to  me  her  love-lorn  tale ; 

With  the  glorious  lark,  I  soar  on  high 

As  her  thrilling  notes  ring  thro'  earth  and  sky. 

I  love  to  skim  o'er  the  pathless  seas, 

Syren-like,  singing  sweet  melodies, 

And  the  home-sick  mariner  feels  my  power 

In  the  loneliness  of  that  star-lit  hour. 

But,  oh  !  far  more  do  I  love  to  sip 

The  fragrant  dew  on  beauty's  lip, 

To  braid  each  tress  of  her  wavy  hair, 

And  tuige  with  bright  blushes  her  cheek  so  fair : 

O'er  the  poet's  couch  my  spirit  bendeth, 

And  my  form  with  his  visions  softly  blendeth, 

While  he  whose  soul  sweet  music  fires 

I  glad  with  the  strains  of  the  seraph  choirs. 


LEAVES   FROM   A   LADY's   DIARY.  167 

April  Wth.— The  old  adage,  "  Love  is  blind,"  is 
by  no  means  true,  at  least  in  my  case.  Cupid  for 
me  never  fails  to  put  on  a  pair  of  magnifying 
glasses,  which  have  the  power  of  exaggerating 
alike  the  virtues  and  defects  of  those  who  have 
with  me  entered  the  lists  of  the  tournament  of  love. 
I  have  detested  many  an  admirer  for  "trifles  light 
as  air,"  cruelly  criticising  his  dress,  voice,  manner, 
or  tastes  ;  and  I  once  took  a  fancy  to  a  person, 
mainly  because  his  gloves  fitted  exquisitely — and 
had  the  other  qualities  corresponded,  my  fancy 
would,  doubtless,  have  taken  other  shape.  But,  to 
return.  To  what  a  severe  scrutiny  have  I  not  sub- 
jected Philip  D'Arcy  ;  but,  "  alas  !  and  well-a-day," 
I  find  no  fault  in  him.  Men  frequently  term  him 
effeminate-looking  ;  and  it  is  true,  that  he  is  formed 
in  a  delicate,  rather  than  a  robust  mould  ;  but  this 
suits  well  with  that  spiritual  style  of  beauty  so  pre- 
eminent in  him  :  and  who  could  fail  to  read  in  the 
pose  of  that  noble  head,  in  the  expression  of  the 
compressed  and  chiselled  lips,  moral  grandeur,  in- 
domitable will.  Women,  too,  frequently  call  him 
cold.  Ah !  they  have  not  marked,  as  I  have,  that 
glance  of  flame  which  (rarely,  it  is  true)  flashes 
from  the  depth  of  those  orbs,  usually  so  serene,  so 
untroubled.  The  volcano  may  be  smouldering,  but 


168  LEAVES   FBOM   A   LADY'S   DIARY. 

it  is  not  extinct.  Long  years  of  self-control  may 
have  schooled  the  heart ;  but  its  pulses,  neverthe- 
less, throb  warmly,  passionately,  humanly,  still. 

May  8th. — Mr.  D'Arcy  possesses,  in  a  remarka- 
ble degree,  the  power  of  affecting  the  heart  and 
imagination  with  what  remains  unspoken.  He 
sets  you  thinking.  In  his  presence,  you  brush 
the  rust  from  your  mind,  and  new  ideas  flow  in 
upon  you.  To-day,  he  spoke  to  us  of  Swedenborg, 
and  of  the  charming  and  consoling  doctrine  of  that 
great  Christian  seer ;  that  however  lonely  our  earthly 
lot,  however  mistaken  we  may  have  been  in  our 
choice  of  a  mate,  those  who  by  perseverance  in 
well  doing  eventually  become  angels,  will,  sooner 
or  later,  meet  with  their  true  conjugal  partner — 
their  other  self — in  a  higher  sphere.  A  beautiful 
philosophy,  and  not  unreasonable,  when  we  con- 
sider that  love,  in  its  true  sense,  is  the  strongest  and 
purest,  as  well  as  the  most  exquisitely  delightful 
sentiment  of  our  nature  :  nor  would  the  Creator  have 
implanted  this  passion  in  our  souls,  but  that  He  in- 
tended to  satisfy  it  to  the  full ;  if,  therefore,  sad 
experience  shows  how  rarely  on  earth  we  are  truly 
mated,  it  follows,  logically,  that  this  sweetest  and 
tenderest  of  the  spirit's  yearnings  looks  for  realiza- 
tion in  a  higher  sphere  of  being.  Such,  at  least,  is 


LEAVES   FROM   A    LADY'S   DIAKY. 


169 


D'Arcy's  firm  belief;  such  also,  he  tells  me,  is  that 
of  many  of  the  most  eminently  intellectual  and 
spiritual  of  his  countrymen  and  countrywomen. 
Mary  is,  of  course,  charmed :  she  says  there  is,  at 
last,  some  chance  for  her. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE      SISTER      OF      MEBOY. 

IT  was  now  the  middle  of  summer,  and  remarka- 
bly hot  for  the  season.  All  our  friends  had  left,  or 
were  leaving  Paris,  and  yet  we  still  lingered  on  in 
our  pretty  apartment  of  the  Avenue  Gabriel. 

One  morning,  suddenly  looking  up  from  my  em- 
broidery, I  was  struck  with  the  pallor  of  Evelyn's 
countenance,  and  the  look  of  weariness  she  wore. 
A  book  was  lying  open  on  a  table  near  ;  but  she  did 
not  read.  Silently  she  dreamed,  her  head  resting 
on  her  hand. 

"  Dear  Evelyn,"  I  said,  while  she  started  as  one 
aroused  from  sleep ;  "  shall  we  not  soon  go  to  the 
country  ?  You  look  far  from  well — and  Ella  would 
cull  fresh  roses  at  the  sea,  or  at  Baden." 

"  Ella  is  very  well,"  she  answered  listlessly,  "  and 
attends  her  classes  daily.  I,  too,  am  well  enough," 
and  she  heaved  a  sigh  so  heartsore  it  was  almost  a 
sob. 


THE   SISTEE   OF   MERCY.  171 

"  Indeed,  dearest,  you  have  been  suffering  for 
three  weeks — ever  since  the  last  ball  at  the  Tuiller- 
ies,  when  you  looked  like  a  sunset  cloud,  as  Mr. 
D'Arcy  said."  She  gave  a  short,  quick  start,  "  all 
in  golden  colored  tulle  and  hazy  bloude.  I  never 
saw  you  look  more  lovely." 

"  Not  enough,"  returned  Evelyn  gloomily,  "  would 
I  were  a  thousand  times  more  beautiful.  Even  then," 
she  whispered,  as  if  to  herself,  "  I  should  not  match 
with  the  matchless." 

"Is  it  possible?  and  are  you  serious?"  I  said, 
painfully  alive  to  her  emotion ;  "  is  your  happiness 
so  entirely  involved  in " 

"In  him.  Yes,  my  kind — my  too  forbearing 
friend.  Evelyn,  the  once  idolized,  petted,  spoiled — 
the  capricious,  the  heartless  coquette — the  once  proud 
beaut}7 — loves  for  the  first  time,  with  that  love  which 
is  her  doom.  His  presence  is  rny  light  and  life  ;  his 
absence  my  soul's  despair.  And  yet,  Mary,  not  one 
word  of  love  has  he  ever  spoken  ;  and  since  that 
ball  he  has  never  been  here — never  written — he  so 
exact,  so  chivalrous  in  his  politeness.  Oh,  Mary, 
why — why  this  so  sudden  change  ?" 

She  fixed  her  sad  eyes,  round  which  were  two  dark 
circles — sign  of  many  a  sleepless  night — imploringly 
on  my  face. 


172  THE   SISTER    OF   MERCY. 

"  I  will  find  out  for  you,"  I  said  ;  "you  shall  at 
least  be  spared  the  pangs  of  suspense." 

"Ah,  me  !"  she  murmured,  "  men  little  know  the 
hours  of  patient  watching  and  waiting  we  poor  wo- 
men suffer.  'Tis  not  to  be  wondered  at  we  make 
the  best  Christians — '  the  patience  of  hope.1  I  un- 
derstand it  now." 

I  took  a  coupe,  and  in  less  than  an  hour  I  had  re- 
turned, for  D'Arcy  resided  in  the  Rue  Castiglione. 

Evelyn,  still  seated  where  I  had  left  her,  sprang 
to  her  feet,  almost  shrieking  as  she  saw  my  solemn 
countenance,  "  Bad  news !  Oh,  tell  me  the  worst !" 

"Mr.  D'Arcy,"  I  said,  "is  ill." 

"  Not  dead !— not  dead !     Oh,  speak !" 

"  No  ;  but  seriously  ill," 

"  I  will  go  to  him,  instantly." 

"  Stay,  Evelyn,"  I  said,  with  authority,  "he  is  un- 
worthy of  your  love." 

She  looked  at  me  in  blank  astonishment. 

"  The  fever  he  has,  he  caught  in  the  low  neigh- 
borhoods, and  among  the  disreputable  company- 
he  frequents." 

She  laughed  hysterically. 

"  What !"  she  said,  "  the  noble  D'Arcy— the  re- 
fined, the  spiritual.  Never,  by  my  hopes  of  Heaven. 
Go,  Mary,  would  you  have  me  hate  you  ?  Look 


THE  SISTER   OF   MERCY.  173 

you,  he  is  true  and  pure  as  the  blessed  sunlight. — 
Unhand  me,  I  say ;  let  me  fly  to  him." 

"  Oh !  Evelyn,  pause,  I  implore  you.  "What  will 
the  world  say  ?" 

"  What  it  likes.  Ah !  is  it  my  Mary  who  would 
dissuade  me  from  tending  a  fellow-creature  in  sick- 
ness— a  stranger  in  a  strange  land  ?  No  ;  she  will 
rather  assist  me,  and  when  exhausted  nature  re- 
quires that  the  '  sister  of  mercy '  should  take  food 
and  rest,  my  Mary  will  then  relieve  her  at  her  post." 

Evelyn  passed  her  arm  caressingly  around  me. 
How  could  I  find  it  in  my  heart  to  refuse  her?  and 
so  our  compact  was  sealed  with  a  kiss. 

It  was  time  the  sick  man  should  have  a  tender 
and  loving  nurse  ;  he  was  suffering  from  a  low,  ner- 
vous fever,  with  typhoid  symptoms  superadded. — 
Three  physicians  were  in  constant  attendance.  All 
light  in  the  chamber  was  strictly  forbidden,  and  the 
least  noise  caused  the  patient  to  start  as  at  the  fir- 
ing of  a  park  of  artillery.  Evelyn's  first  act  was  to 
dismiss  the  coarse,  fat  nurse,  who  sat  dozing  and  oc- 
casionally snoring  in  a  comfortable  easy-chair. — 
Taking  the  authority  of  a  sister  upon  her,  she  paid 
the  woman,  and  stated  her  firm  intention  of  remain- 
ing the  sole  attendant  at  the  bedside  of  her  brother. 
Then  gently  and  softly  she  moved  about,  robed  in  a 
peignoir  of  delicate  white  muslin,  putting  all  in  or- 


174  THE   SISTER   OF    MERCY. 

der.  The  sick  man— half  delirious — seemed  to  feel 
there  was  some  change,  for  he  murmured  tenderly, 
"  what  angel  is  here  ?"  Evelyn  gently  laid  her  cool 
hand  on  the  fevered  brow,  but  spoke  not,  for  to  do 
BO  was  forbidden.  The  touch  soothed  and  quieted 
the  sufferer,  and  the  physicians,  when  they  came, 
found  a  slight  change  for  the  better.  For  six  days 
and  nights  did  Evelyn  and  myself  watch  alternate- 
ly by  the  bedside  of  poor  D'Arcy,  wb.o  in  his  mo- 
ments of  wandering,  seemed  earnestly  engaged  in 
conversation  with  a  spirit  he  named  as  Lilian,  his 
affianced  bride.  As  if  in  reply,  he  would  say  : 

"I  will  obey  you  implicitly.  Lilian,  my  sweet 
sister,  bride  no  longer,  since  you  so  will  it.  I  have 
now  another  guardian  angel  near.  Say  you  so?  and 
you  warn  me  not  to  pass  by  my  destiny.  You  cau- 
tion rue  against  such  blindness,  and  you  leave  me." 

Much  more  was  said,  but  so  incoherent  we  could 
not  gather  the  sense — and  then,  fatigued,  the  pa- 
tient would  dose  off  into  the  restless,  unrefreshing 
sleep  of  fever.  At  length  we  could  no  longer  de- 
ceive ourselves  ;  the  poor  sufferer  grew  weaker  and 
weaker,  till  at  last  the  doctors  unanimously  shook 
their  learned  heads,  and  augured  the  worst.  The 
principal  physician,  taking  me  apart,  said, 

"My  dear  lady,  bre.tk  it  ^untly  to  the   poor  sis- 


THE   BISTER   OF   MERCY.  175 

ter — for  in  twelve  hours  her  brother   will   be  no 
more." 

Evelyn,  pale  as  marble,  and  almost  as  cold  and 
motionless,  waved  me  off.  She  had  heard  too  well 
the  ominous  whisper.  For  twelve  long  hours,  her 
arm  tenderly  sustained  the  head  of  the  dying  man, 
the  other  hand  ceaselessly  engaged  in  the  last  pain- 
ful offices  of  affection.  Utterly  forgetful  of  self — 
even  of  her  overwhelming  sorrow — her  one  thought 
was  how  she  could  best  soften  the  parting  agony.  Ev- 
ery moment  she  listened  for  the  almost  imperceptible 
breathing,  each  instant  feeling  for  the  beating  of 
the  heart.  But  the  pulse  waxed  fainter  and  fainter, 
the  death  rattle  came  to  the  throat — a  long,  long 
sigh — another,  and  another — then  the  heart  ceased 
to  beat,  and  all  was  over. 

The  doctors  ascertained  the  fact  of  the  decease,  and 
were  too  glad  to  leave  the  house  of  mourning.  Eve- 
lyn, tearless,  desolate,  despairing,  sank  on  her  knees 
beside  the  couch — she  believed  in  prayers  for  the 
dead.  I  knelt  beside  her,  and  our  united  supplica- 
tions ascended  to  the  throne  of  the  Most  High .  At 
length  I  arose,  and  would  have  led  the  afflicted  one 
away.  She  resisted.  u  I  will  not  leave  him,"  she  said. 
Finding  it  useless  endeavoring  to  change  her  re- 
solve, I  went  home,  and  returned  later,  determined 
not  to  give  up  the  point.  Reluctantly  the  mourner 


176  THE    SISTER   OF   MERCY. 

consented  to  take  some  repose.  She  arose  from  her 
knees ;  then  suddenly,  and  as  one  frantic,  she  flung 
herself  upon  the  lifeless  corpse. 

"  I  will  not  leave  thee,  Philip — mine  in  death,  if 
not  in  life." 

She  clung  to  the  helpless  clay,  her  warm,  fresh 
mouth  pressing  the  ice-cold  lips,  her  pure  breath 
entering  the  paralyzed  lungs.  The  passionate  heart, 
full  of  the  magnetism  of  life,  beating  against  that 
stone-cold  breast — now,  alas  !  still  for  ever. 

"  Philip,"  she  cried  again  and  again,  straining 
the  dear  form  closer  and  yet  closer  in  her  fond  em- 
brace, "  come  back  to  your  Evelyn,"  when,  O  won- 
drous to  relate  !  the  spirit  just  about  to  take  wing, 
and  emerge  from  the  dark  terrors  of  the  "  valley  of 
the  shadow  of  death,"  or  intermediate  state,  into 
life  and  immortality,  paused, — wavered — looked 
back  lovingly,  and  returned  to  the  body.  A  Di- 
vine influx  descending  through  that  tender  woman's 
bosom,  established  a  human  sympathy  once  more 
with  the  apparently  lifeless  frame,  and  D'Arcy 
again  breathed  the  breath  of  life. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

ELLA. 

EVELYN  had  saved  Philip  D'Arcy's  life,  but  al- 
most at  the  cost  of  her  own.  The  reaction  from 
intense  despair  to  the  excess  of  joy,  was  too  much 
for  her,  and  to  a  deathlike  swoon  succeeded  the 
frantic  ravings  of  delirium.  The  fever  of  her  be- 
loved had  fastened  its  cruel  fangs  in  her  very  vitals. 
During  weeks  and  weeks  of  suffering,  I  scarcely 
left  the  bedside  of  my  poor  friend — for  ever  and  for 
ever  did  she  utter  the  name  of  Philip,  her  true 
mate,  her  celestial  bridegroom,  her  first,  last,  her 
only  love.  Unwilling  that  other  ears  should  disco- 
ver the  secret  of  her  heart,  I  permitted  none  to  ap- 
proach, cautiously  concealing  from  Ella  the  dan- 
gerous nature  of  the  malady,  lest  the  dear  girl 
should  insist  on  sharing  my  anxious  watch,  and 
thus  be  made  aware  of  her  mother's  weakness — a 
weakness  which,  while  pitying,  I  deeply  deplored. 
Poor  D'Arcy  too,  I  remembered,  must  not  be  left 


178  ELLA. 

alone  with  strangers.  At  ray  desire,  therefore, 
Ella,  accompanied  by  an  elderly  female  attendant, 
supplied  her  mother's  place  in  the  sick  room  of 
him  who  still  required  the  utmost  attention  and  so- 
licitude. 

Many  days  elapsed  ere  the  patient  was  pro- 
nounced out  of  danger,  and  permitted  to  speak. 

"  Sir,  I  am  both  surprised  and  happy  to  be  able 
to  announce  your  convalescence ;  and  it  is  to  the 
devoted  attention  of  this  young  girl,"  designating 
Ella,  "  that,  under  divine  Providence,  you  owe  your 
life."  So  spake  the  man  of  science,  not  aware  of  the 
whole  truth,  as  we  know  it,  and  he  spake  as  he 
thought.  The  sick  man  turned  a  grateful  look  on 
his  young  nurse,  gently  raising  the  hand  she  had 
placed  in  his  to  his  pallid  lips. 

Many  a  time,  as  he  daily  grew  stronger,  would 
D'Arcy  desire  to  ask  after  Evelyn  ;  and  yet,  simple 
as  was  the  question,  it  appeared  as  if  his  tongue 
refused  to  frame  it.  "  Strange  that  she  never  in- 
quires— never  comes,"  he  mused.  "  Were  not  Ella 
so  calm,  I  should  say  her  mother,  too,  must  be  ill." 
At  length,  he  determined  to  solve  his  doubts — 
"  Your  dear  mother,  my  child,  and  Miss  Mildmay — 
tell  me  of  them  £' 

"  Poor  mama,"  replied  the  young  girl,  "  is  not 
very  well." 


ELLA.  179 

"Nothing  serious,  I  trust." 

"  Oh !  no.  She  caught  cold,  I  believe,  the  last 
time  she  was  out." 

D'Arcy  sighed — in  his  heart  he  maligned  poor 
Evelyn  as  a  true  woman  of  the  world,  a  fashionable 
coquette,  heartless  as  she  was  beautiful ;  and  think- 
ing thus,  he  unconsciously  watched  the  graceful, 
half-childish  form  of  Ella,  as  she  noiselessly  stole 
about  the  room,  or  bent  over  her  tapestry  frame,  till 
at  length  he  grew  to  listen  eagerly  for  her  coming 
and  regret  her  parting  step.  Sweetly  would  the 
tones  of  her  silvery  voice  fall  on  his  ear,  as,  reclining 
on  a  conch  propped  up  by  cushions,  he  listened 
while  she  read  to  him  extracts  from  Byron,  Words- 
worth, Tennyson,  or  some  noble  bard  of  tyis  own 
fair  land.  A.t  such  times  he  would  name  her,  half 
in  jest,  "  Elaine,  the  lily  maid,"  who  died  of  love 
for  the  brave  Sir  Launcelot. 

One  afternoon,  as  the  invalid  drew  fresh  life  from 
the  warm  beams  of  the  mid-day  sun,  his  young  com- 
panion,, seated  on  a  low  stool  at  his  feet,  her  fairy 
fingers  busily  engaged  with  her  tapestry,  D'Arcy 
said — ''Sweet  Elaine!  shall  we  read,  or  shall  we 
have  a  little  quiet  talk  together  ?" 

With  a  sweet  smile,  she  answered,  still  diligently 
plying  her  needle :  "  We  will  converse  to-day — for 


180  ELLA. 

I  must  finish  this  cushion  for  mania  by  the  time  she 
is  quite  well." 

But  D'Arcy  appeared  embarrassed ;  and,  after  a 
pause  of  some  minutes'  duration,  he  probably  said 
just  the  thing  he  had  never  intended  to  utter  : 

"  My  child,  could  you  love  ?" 

Wonderingly,  Ella  raised  her  soft  blue  eyes,  and 
fixed  them  on  the  face  of  the  speaker — "  Why,  cer- 
tainly," she  said;  "I  dearly,  dearly  love  my 
mother." 

"  And  none  other  ?" 

"  Oh  !  yes,  indeed — Mary — our  kind,  good  Mary, 
for  example.  You,  too,  of  course,"  blushing 
slightly — "  you  are  now  another  dear  friend." 

"  But,  Ella,  listen.  Could  you,  for  instance,  love 
as — as — Elaine  loved  Launcelot  ?" 

She  paused.  "  I  have  never  thought  of  that — at 
any  rate,  if  he  had  not  loved  me,  I  should  never 
have  been  so  silly  as  to  care  for  him." 

"  No — but  supposing  he  had  loved  you  ?" 

"  "Well,  in  that  case,  perhaps  I  might ;  but,  oh ! 
Mr.  D'Arcy,  never,  even  then,  nearly  so  much  as  I 
love  my  own  dear  mother.  Ah  !  you  do  not  know 
how  I  love  her,"  and  the  tears  started  to  the  dear 
child's  clear  eyes ;  "  but,"  she  hesitated,  "I  do 
wish  to  say  something  to  you — you  must  never, 
never  mention  it,  though.  Perhaps  it  is  foolish  to 


181 

tell  you — but,  I  should  so  like  my  mother  to 
marry." 

It  now  was  D'Arcy 's  turn  to  feel  his  cheek  all 
flame.  "  It  is,  doubtless,"  he  forced  himself  to  re- 
ply, "  by  your  mother's  own  desire  that  she  remains 
single." 

"  I  do  not  know,"  mused  Ella — "  she  was  very 
nearly  married  once ;  but  it  (I  mean  the  marriage) 
was  postponed,  in  consequence  of  her  not  being 
willing  to  change  her  religion.  I,  however,  know 
she  loved  the ,  but  I  will  not  name  him." 

D'Arcy  was  now  pale  as  death.  "  Perhaps,"  said 
he,  "  all  may  at  present  be  at  an  end." 

"  Oh !  no,  indeed,"  exclaimed  Ella,  eagerly ; 
"  they  still  correspond,  I  know — and  he  is  so  hand- 
some, so  good,  so  fond  of  her — she  would  be  very, 
very  happy — do,  Mr.  D'Arcy,  persuade  mama  to 
become  a  Catholic !" 

He  seemed  lost  in  thought.  "  Sweet  Elaine,"  at 
length  he  said,  "  rest  assured,  that,  to  further  your 
mother's  welfare  and  your  own,  I  would  gladly 
sacrifice  my  life.  I  will  take  an  early  occasion  of 
conversing  with  her  on  this  subject." 

Meanwhile,  my  poor  invalid  lay  turning  and 
tossing  on  her  fevered  couch,  and  ever  and  forever 
would  she  thus  make  moan:  "Philip,  my  own  true 
mate — Philip,  bridegroom  of  my  soul  —  why  so 


182  ELLA. 

cruel?"  Then,  in  her  wild  delirium,  would  she 
sing  snatches  of  melody,  and  her  voice  was  strong, 
clear,  and  of  unearthly  sweetness.  Often  would  she 
repeat  those  exquisite  lines  of  Shelly  : 

"  The  nightingale's  complaint,  it  dies  upon  her  heart, 
As  I  must  on  thine,  beloved  as  thou  art — 
A  spirit  Lath  led  me  to  thee,  love." 

"  Yes,  Lilian — thy  loved  Lilian,  hath  given  thee 
to  Evelyn— Keginald,  too,  looks  upon  me  with  ten- 
der and  forgiving  eyes.  See !  they  descend  toge- 
ther to  bless  our  union — they  bear  a  wreath  of 
orange  blossoms  and  myrtle — they  place  it  on  my 
burning  brow — it  is  cool — cool — delicious!  Oh! 
what  fragrance!  It  soothes  my  brain — it  recalls 
my  senses— the  dews  of  Paradise  fall  like  a  shower 
of  pearls  over  my  tangled  hair.  Ah !  see — they 
place  a  white  moss  rose  on  my  bosom — it  stills  the 
throbbings  of  my  heart — it  deadens  the  pain ! 
Thanks,  blessed,  loving  angels !  Pray  for  poor 
Evelyn.  She  is  saved  !" 

As  she  uttered  these  words  an  exquisite  perfume 
filled  the  sick  chamber,  and  I  saw,  as  it  were,  a 
halo  of  white  light  around  the  head  of  the  poor  suf- 
ferer, and  fancied  I  beheld  a  hand,  white  as  alabas- 
ter, holding  a  rose  to  her  breast.  A  moment,  and 
the  light  faded,  or  rather,  gave  place  to  the  sickly 


ELLA.  183 

rays  of  the  early  dawn,  as  they  penetrated  the 
closed  blinds  and  shone  on  the  pale  form  of  the  pa- 
tient. Was  this  a  vision  or  a  mere  disorder  of  the 
fancy  ?  I  know  not ;  but  I  do  know  that  from  that 
moment  the  fever  left  her  ;  that  she  slept  profoundly 
for  twelve  consecutive  hours ;  and  on  awakening 
was  declared  convalescent. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE        PKOP08AL. 

IT  was  the  sixteenth  of  August;  the  heat  had 
been  intense,  but  toward  evening  a  cool  air  stirred 
the  leaves  of  the  trees,  and  entered  the  open  win- 
dow of  the  pretty  boudoir  in  the  Avenue  Gabriel. 
That  day  our  beloved  in  valid  »quitted  her  room  for 
the  first  time.  Languidly  reclining  on  an  elegant 
couch  of  pale  green  silk,  her  sweet  face  half 
buried  in  the  rich  lace  which  ornamented  the  downy 
cushions,  she  enjoyed  the  voluptuous  sensations  in- 
cident to  the  convalescent  state.  Ella  had  decked 
the  apartment  with  flowers,  to  fete  the  recovery  of 
her  dear  mother,  and  a  silver  tea-service,  standing 
on  a  small  table  near,  plentifully  supplied  with 
cakes  and  fruit,  added  greatly  to  the  home  comfort 
of  the  scene. 

Evelyn's  illness,  if  it  had  somewhat   detracted 


THE   PROPOSAL.  185 

from  the  brilliancy  of  her  beauty,  had  replaced  it 
with  an  air  of  delicacy  and  refinement,  which,  per- 
haps, suited  still  better  the  classic  outline  of  her 
features.  Her  complexion,  transparent  as  porce- 
lain, was  now  colorless,  if  we  except  a  bright  spot 
on  either  cheek — the  result  of  emotion  rather  than 
of  returning  health.  Her  soft,  hazel  eyes  seemed 
humid  with  a  tender  languor  which  gave  to  them  a 
remarkable  charm.  The  warm  pulses  of  renewed 
life  and  hope  seemed  to  pervade  each  nerve  and 
fibre  of  her  being.  I  could  scarcely  keep  my  eyes 
from  looking  at  her,  while  Ella,  echoing  my  thoughts, 
exclaimed : 

"  Dearest  mama,  how  very  beautiful  you  look  this 
evening !" 

The  mother  pensively  smiled,  passed  her  hand 
through  her  daughter's  hair,  and  then  was  again 
lost  in  thought. 

But  let  us  now  permit  her  to  speak  for  herself. 

MORE    LEAVES. 

August  16th. — It  is  nearly  three  whole  months 
since  1  have  seen  him,  and  oh  !  what  events  since 
then.  Both  have  been  sick  nigh  unto  death ;  both 
have  received  revelations  from  the  angel  world,  and 
I  shall  see  him  this  day,  and  he  said  to  Ella  he  would 


186  THE   PROPOSAL. 

speak  with  me  alone.  Ah  !  the  cruel  moments 
lengthen  themselves  into  hours  to  retard  his  coming. 
And  if,  after  all,  he  should  fail.  But  that  is  not 
possible,  has  he  not  given  his  word  ! 


.  —  I  have  made  a  violent  effort  to  collect  my 
scattered  senses,  for  I  would  fain  write  the  occur- 
rences of  that  night.  Though  the  day  appeared  as 
if  it  would  never  end,  yet,  as  evening  approached, 
I  almost  dreaded  to  meet  him.  The  thought  that  I 
had  dared  to  clasp  him,  living,  in  my  arms  —  that 
unasked,  unsought,  my  lips  had  been  pressed  to  his, 
made  me  timid  as  a  young  girl.  This  remembrance, 
even  now,  dyes  my  cheek  with  crimson.  Oh  !  were 
he  then  conscious  of  all,  how  could  I  ever,  ever, 
again  lift  my  eves  to  his;  how  could  I  ever  support 
his  glance  of  withering  scorn.  As  these  reflections 
passed  through  my  brain,  1  half  arose.  "  I  will  re- 
tire to  my  room,"  I  thought,  "  and  leave  Mary  and 
Ella  to  receive  him."  Just  then  there  was  a  ring, 
and  a  well-known  step  was  heard  in  the  antecham- 
ber. Philip  D'Arcy  entered,  and  in  the  delirious 
joy  of  his  presence,  I  forgot  all  but  that  he  was 
here  once  more  —restored  to  life,  to  health,  to  hope, 
to  love.  He  appeared  surprised  to  find  me  still  an 
invalid,  for  as  he  took  my  hand  and  pressed  it  with 
that  soft,  thrilling  pressure  which  may  mean  friend- 


THE    PROPOSAL.  187 

ship,  or  so  much  more,  he  murmured  words  of 
sorrow  and  sympathy,  thougli  I  scarcely  caught 
their  meaning.  Then  seating  himself,  as  Mary 
served  the  tea,  he  addressed  some  polite  and  com- 
monplace observations  to  her  and  Ella.  I  could 
now  satisfy  the  hunger  of  my  soul  by  dwelling  on 
that  noble  countenance,  the  light  of  which  had  so 
long  been  hidden  from  my  weary  eyes. 

After  long  silence,  I  said  suddenly, 

"Pray,  Mr.  D'Arcy,  tell  me  how  did  you  man- 
age to  catch  that  fever  ?" 

The  formality  of  this  address  sounded  strangely 
even  to  my  own  ears,  and  almost  as  if  another  had 
spoken. 

Philip  smiled  his  old  smile,  and  replied  that  he 
would  prefer  this  should  remain  a  secret.  Perceiv- 
ing a  somewhat  mocking  expression  on  Mary's  lips, 
I  exclaimed  with  petulance, 

"  But  I  insist  on  your  telling  me — I  will  know." 

Turning  upon  me  a  calm  and  penetrating,  though 
rather  surprised  look,  he  said  quietly, 

"  I  have  the  gift  of  healing  by  mesmeric  passes  ; 
over  fatigued  by  too  close  attendance  on  a  patient 
suffering  from  a  virulent  attack  of  morbid  typhus, 
I  saved  him,  but  succumbed  to  the  malady  myself." 

I  cast  a  triumphant  glance  at  Mary.  It  was  with 
difficulty  I  could  resist  the  impulse  I  felt  to  throw 


188  THE   PROPOSAL. 

myself  at  his  feet,  almost  in  adoration.  Mary  then 
happily  observed,  in  her  usual  calm  and  philosophic 
style,  that  "  magnetism  appeared  to  be  the  grand 
motive  power  of  organic  nature." 

"  Say  rather,"  replied  D'Arcy,  "  of  the  entire 
visible  universe.  Do  we  not  know  that  the  poles 
of  the  earth  are  magnetic  ?  Is  there  not  electro- 
magnetism  in  the  sun's  beams  ?  And  in  fact  I  have 
very  little  doubt  that  the  power  named  gravita- 
tion by  Newton,  is  neither  more  nor  less  than  mag- 
netic attraction." 

"  That,"  replied  Mary,  "  is  both  a  philosophic 
and  a  beautiful  idea." 

"  I  think,"  rejoined  he,  "  it  at  least  bears  the 
impress  of  truth,  and  as  science  progresses,  who 
knows  whether  it  will  not  be  ascertained  that  sim- 
ilar internal  laws  govern  these  apparently  distinct 
forces  ?  All  true  science  tends  towards  unity,  as 
all  religious  point  to  the  ONE  TEUE  GOD." 

So  passed  the  time,  till  tea  being  over,  Mary  with 
Ella  proposed  taking  a  stroll — the  latter  laughingly 
saying  that  the  two  invalids  might  amuse  each  other 
by  expatiating  on  the  delights  of  panada,  tisane, 
and  chicken  broth. 

In  the  sweet  hour  of  twilight,  alone  once 
more  with  him,  aud  awaiting,  as  it  were,  the 
fiat  of  my  destiny,  is  it  wonderful  that  pale  with 
emotion  I  lay  almost  as  one  inanimate? 


THE   PROPOSAL.  189 

"  I  fear" — and  the  tones  of  his  voice  were  low 
and  tender  as  he  bent  over  me — "  I  fear  me  much 
you  still  suffer." 

"  I  have  been  ill,  very  ill,"  I  murmured,  scarcely 
daring  to  trust  my  voice. 

"  Can  you  listen,"  he  almost  whispered,  "  if  I  speak 
to  you  on  a  subject  important  to  me,  interesting  to 
you — to  both " 

I  signed  assent,  for  I  was  powerless  now  to  artic- 
ulate one  word. 

"During  my  illness,"  he  proceeded,  "I  was  in 
constant  communication  with  the  spirit  of  my  Lilian. 
Much  advice  she  gave,  and  much  she  cautioned  as 
to  my  future  ;  finally,  she  informed  me  that  it  was 
not  her  destiny  to  become  my  bride  through  eter- 
nity, but  that  there  was  one  then  near  who  would 
save  my  life — one  whose  tender  bosom  would  ever 
pulsate  in  unison  with  my  own,  whose  character  of 
mind  and  heart  was,  from  contrast,  fitted  alone  to 
complete  mine — 'but,'  she  added,  solemnly,  'make 
not  shipwreck  of  your  happiness.  Pass  not  by 
your  fate?  " 

He  paused.  I  could  make  no  reply.  My  blood 
was  coursing  rapidly  and  tumultuously  through  ev- 
ery vein  and  artery.  My  voice,  passion-choked,  could 
only  express  itself  in  sighs.  My  soul  seemed  bathed 
in  an  ocean  of  hitherto  unknown  delights.  I 


190  THE   PROPOSAL. 

scarcely  dared  breathe,  lest  I  should  lose  a  word, 
a  tone.  A  few  moments  more  of  suspense  would 
have  killed  me.  Would  that  it  had  been  so  ! 

Soft  as  the  murmur  of  a  summer  brook,  thrilling 
as  the  song  of  birds,  tender  as  the  cooing  of  the 
wood-pigeon,  did  that  loved  voice  again  steal  upon 
my  ear.  "At  one  time,"  it  said,  "  methought  I  was 
dying.  I  lost  all  physical  sensation.  My  heartfelt 
like  a  stone  in  the  midst  of  my  body.  My  breath- 
ing seemed  to  be  carried  on  through  the  spiritual 
lungs  alone — when,  suddenly,  as  if  from  afar,  I 
heard,  as  it  were,  a  faint  cry — a  cry  of  distress : 
'  Philip,  mine  own,  do  not  die,'  it  said,  '  Return — 
oh  !  return.'  (I  covered  my  burning  face  with  my 
hands,  as  he  continued.) 

"  At  this  time  I  felt  on  my  lips  a  warm  breath — a 
human  heart  appeared  to  touch  my  own — then  all 
was  dark,  dark.  On  opening  my  eyes,  I  beheld,  as 
an  angel  of  light,  standing  at  my  bedside,  your 
sweet  child  Ella." 

As  if  one  had  taken  a  sledge-hammer,  and  struck 
with  violence  a  blow  on  the  very  centre  of  my 
heart — such  was  the  shock  I  experienced.  Stunned, 
unconscious,  I  heard  no  more.  Hud  it  not  been 
thus  mercifully  arranged,  I  had  not  stifled  a  burst 
of  passionate  anguish.  When  I  in  some  measure  re- 
covered my  senses  a  mortal  despair  seized  upon  me. 


THE   PROPOSAL.  191 

The  shades  of  evening  had  now  closed  in,  my 
soul  too  was  all  gloom.  Still  those  soft  accents  fell 
on  my  ear,  till  at  length  I  distinguished  the  words, 
"  Have  I  then  your  consent?"  In  vain  would  I  have 
replied,  but  my  throat  was  parched — my  tongue  par- 
alyzed. I  could  only  bend  my  head  in  token  of  as- 
sent. "  On  one  other  subject  would  I  also  for  a  mo- 
ment speak,"  and  then  the  beloved  voice  trembled 
and  faltered,  "  Pardon  me,  but  your  happiness  is 
dear — dearer  to  me  than  my  own.  I  understand," 
— he  hesitated,  and  then  spoke  rapidly,  as  though 
he  would  be  rid  of  an  ungrateful  task,  "  I  hear,  there 
is  one  who  adores  you — one  who  has  haply  not 
loved  in  vain — one,  in  fine,  who  even  now  stands 
toward  you  in  the  light  of  an  affianced  husband. 
May  I  express  the  hope  that  this  union  will  no  lon- 
ger be  delayed,  and  that  bliss  such  as  rarely  falls  to 
mortal  lot  may  be  yours,  and  his  for  your  sweet 
sake  ?"  Philip  raised  my  hand  to  his  lips.  "  Good 
God  ?"  he  cried,  "  you  are  ill — your  hand  is  cold 
and  clammy  as  in  death." 

I  tried  to  smile.  Happily  the  darkness  covered 
the  ghastly  and  futile  attempt.  By  a  supreme  ef- 
fort I  rose  to  my  feet. 

"  I  am  well.  I  thank  you,"  I  gasped,  "  for— for 
your  good  wishes.  I  shall" — and  I  pressed  both 
hands  on  my  heart  to  still  its  wild  beatings,  now 


192  THE   PROPOSAL. 

and  forever,  if  I  could — "  I  shall  marry  soon — very 
soon." 

Staggering  to  the  door,  I  met  Mary  and  Ella. — 
Motioning  the  latter  toward  the  boudoir,  and  cling- 
ing almost  fainting  to  Mary,  who  caught  me  in  her 
arms,  I  was  half-led,  half-carried  to  my  bed-chamber 
— where,  left  alone  with  my  grief,  my  despair,  my 
lost  love,  my  wounded  woman's  pride — worn  out 
by  that  "  hope  deceived  which  maketh  the  heart 
sick,"  exhausted  nature  could  no  more,  and  sleep  at 
length  in  pity  steeped  my  weary  soul  in  forgetful- 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

LOVED      IN      VAIN. 

Is  there  one  among  us  who  has  not,  at  some  pe- 
riod of  his  life,  experienced  the  dull  pain  which,  on 
tfce  morrow  of  a  great  grief,  ever  returns  to  us  with 
the  first  dawn  of  consciousness  ?  .  Have  we  not 
hated  the  very  light  of  another  day  ?  Have  not  all 
familiar  objects  lost  their  charm  for  us  ?  How  sens- 
itively, too,  have  we  shrunk  from  contact  with 
the  domestics — aye,  even  from  the  loved  faces  of 
the  home  circle !  Alone  would  we  entertain  our  sor- 
row. We  are  in  love  with  her,  and  from  her  we  will 
not  be  parted.  This  is  the  very  luxury  of  grief.  Joy 
may  be  a  social  passion  ;  but  surely  the  converse  is 
true  of  profound  misery. 

Our  unhappy  heroine  dared  not  thus  indulge  her 
sorrow — she  must  up  and  be  doing.  The  poisoned  ar- 
row which  had  pierced  her  bosom  must  there  remain, 
an  agonized  but  concealed  torture.  Ah !  me — those 
pangs  for  which  the  world  would  have  no  pity,  and 

9 


194:  LOVED   IN   VAIN. 

which,  therefore,  we  must  hide  under  the  semblance 
of  smiles,  are  ever  the  most  poignant. 

Like  lawful  love,  legitimate  grief  may  be  deep  ; 
but  neither  are  of  that  stormy  nature  which  shakes 
the  soul  to  its  foundation,  and  blights  the  whole 
existence.  So  Evelyn  arose,  mechanically,  and  suf- 
fered her  maid  to  attire  her ;  then,  causing  the 
blinds  to  be  closed,  the  better  to  conceal  her  hag- 
gard countenance,  she  bade  the  attendant  leave  the 
room. 

To  the  question — "Will  madame  take  breakfast 
now?"  her  mistress  replied,  that  she  merely  re*- 
quired  a  cup  of  tea ;  and  added,  that,  having  impor- 
tant letters  to  write,  she  must  not  for  the  present  be 
disturbed.  Then  flinging  herself  into  a  chair,  and 
covering  her  aching  eyes  with  her  hand,  she  endea- 
vored to  collect  her  thoughts.  Just  then,  she  felt  a 
soft  warm  touch — when,  starting,  she  turned  and  per- 
ceived her  faithful  dog,  the  gift  of  di  Balzano.  He 
had  placed  his  paw  in  her  hand,  and  he  looked  into 
her  face  with  a  fond,  wistful  glance,  which  seemed 
to  say,  "  Dear  mistress,  you  are  sick  or  sad ;  but 
your  poor  dog  loves  you,  and  will  never  forsake 
you."  And  Evelyn  comprehended,  and  she  flung 
her  arm  about  the  shaggy  neck  of  her  favorite,  and 
the  large  scalding  drops  fell  on  his  honest  head.  "  Poor 
Dashey,"  she  said — "  poor  fellow  !" — and  tears, 


LOVED   IN    VAIN.  195 

too,  almost  human,  stood  in  the  eyes  of  the  loving* 
animal.  Nay,  mock  not,  gentle  reader — for,  as  the 
author  has  observed,  so  she  writes.  She  once  had  a 
dog  whom  she  has  seen  weep  more  than  once  ;  and 
when  the  poor  fond  creature  died,  she  mourned  for 
her  (for  she  was  of  the  softer  sex)  as  for  a  friend. 

And  Evelyn  went  to  her  writing-table — her  re- 
solve was  taken.  "  Good,  kind  Balzano,"  she  said  ; 
"  how  he  loved  me — unworthy  as  I  am  !  I  will  no 
longer  delay  writing  to  him  ;"  and  she  penned  the 
letter  we  here  transcribe  : 

A  Sua  Excellenza,  il  Duca  di  Balzano, 

Palazzo  Balzano,  Naples,  August  — ,  18 — . 

DEAR  FRIEND, — Pardon  my  prolonged  silence, 
and  apparent  neglect.  I  have  been  ill — danger- 
ously ill — for  many  weeks.  Before  that,  I  had 
come  to  no  decision  on  the  subject  of  your  last  let- 
ter. I  cannot  be  a  Catholic;  but,  if  you  can  pro- 
cure a  dispense  from  the  Pope,  I  will  now  be  your 
wife.  Can  you  forgive  my  caprice  !  At  last,  I 
understand  how  cruelly  you  must  have  suffered 
through  me.  Henceforth,  it  will  be  the  sole  aim  of 
my  life  to  compensate  for  past  folly,  by  future  devo- 
tion to  your  happiness.  Write  soon,  and  say  when 
we  may  expect  you  here.  Ella  you  will  find  grown 
out  of  all  knowledge.  You  were  ever  a  favorite 


196  LOVED   IN    VAIN. 

*with  her.     I  cannot  write  more.     1  am  still  very 
weak — but,  as  ever, 

Your  affectionate  friend, 

EVELYN. 

The  letter  was  just  concluded,  when  a  gentle  tap 
at  the  door  caused  the  writer's  heart  to  give  one 
bound,  and  then  almost  to  cease  beating.  Evelyn 
withdrew  the  bolt— for  she  must  speak  with  Ella. 
The  young  girl  threw  herself  on  her  mother's  neck  ; 
but  that  mother's  kiss  was  cold,  for  the  first  time — 
and,  as  she  felt  the  soft  contact  of  her  child's  pure 
lips,  almost  a  shudder  passed  through  her  frame. 
Ah !  wherefore  did  the  shadow  of  that  man  come 
between  those  two !  And  Ella  knelt  at  her  mother's 
feet,  an  unconscious  rival ;  and  as  the  latter,  faint 
and  sick  at  heart,  leaned  back  in  her  fauteuil,  she 
held  the  poor  burning  hand  in  her  cool  fresh  palm, 
and  poured  out  before  her  mother  all  the  thoughts 
and  feelings  of  her  innocent,  loving  heart.  She 
told  how  D'Arcy  loved  her,  how  kind  he  was, 
how  clever — far  too  wise  and  clever  for  her,  how 
could  he  think  of  such  a  child  ?  True,  Lilian  had 
told  him,  or  it  could  never  have  been  ;  but  her 
dear  mother  must  teach  her  to  become  wise,  wor- 
thy of  him,  that  he  may  not  think  her  foolish— 
"But  oh!  my  own,  own  mama,  I  never,  never 


LOVED   IN   VAIN.  197 

will  marry  and  leave  you  all  alone.  I  told  Mr. 
D'Arcy  so.  Never  till  you  are  a  duchess,  you 
know,"  kissing  her  hand,  "  for  though  I  like  him 
very  much,  I  never  shall  love  him  like  my  own 
sweet  mother  ;  how  could  I !  " 

Alas!  poor  Evelyn;  bitterly  did  thy  heart  re- 
proach thee  that  thou  couldst  not  feel  as  the  tender 
maiden  at  thy  feet — that  thy  now  guilty  love  still 
glowed  in  thy  tortured  heart,  as  in  a  furnace,  to  the 
exclusion  of  each  gentle  and  more  holy  sentiment. 
Unhappy  mother !  she  could  scarce  support  the  pre- 
sence of  her  child  now. 

"  Dear  girl,"  she  said,  with  an  effort,  "  be  hap- 
py. I  have  written  to  accept  M.  di  Balzano." — 
Ella  made  a  movement  of  delight.  "Bless  you, 
darling,  now  leave  me.  Take  that  letter  and  see 
that  it  is  sent.  I  would  be  alone,  my  head  aches 
terribly."  A  true  woman's  excuse,  but  in  our  he- 
roine's case  not  a  fictitious  one. 

Once  more  left  to  her  own  sad  thoughts,  Evelyn 
endeavored  to  realize  her  painful  position.  It  was 
necessary  to  meet  D'Arcy  ;  to  show  him  that  she 
consented,  nay,  that  she  was  even  happy,  in  the 
idea  of  his  union  with  another,  and  that  other  her 
own  daughter.  "Alas  !"  she  repeated  to  herself, 


198  LOVED   IN   VAIN. 

"  To  love  thee  dumbly,  nor  by  look  or  word 
To  break  the  silence  set  upon  my  soul, 
To  crush  the  voice  that  struggles  to  be  heard, 
To  gaze  unmoved  on  the  forbidden  goal. 

"  To  sit  and  look  into  thine  eyes,  and  yearn 
To  tell  thee  all  my  closely  hoarded  thought, 
And  still  to  know  that  I  must  calmly  learn 
To  meet  thy  gaze,  and  yet  to  utter  naught 

"  To  know  there  is  no  hope ;  hourly  to  feel 
That  Destiny  forbids  a  word,  a  breath ; 
This  bitter  fate  is  mine,  until  the  seal 
Is  broken,  by  the  welcome  hand  of  death." 


And  she  accepted  her  fate,  and  she  made  the  he- 
roic resolve  —  cost  what  it  might,  she  would  see 
D'Arcy  this  evening,  if  but  for  five  minutes.  She 
would  school  her  eyes  to  gaze  calmly  on  those 
still  beloved  features.  She  would  force  herself  to 
support  the  sight  of  those  lover-like  attentions  which 
were  not,  which  never  could  be  for  her.  She  would 
even  be  happy  in  the  mutual  happiness  of  those  two 
dear  ones.  Did  she,  perchance,  miscalculate  her 
strength  ?  For  the  present,  at  least,  that  trial  was 
spared  her.  Just  about  the  hour  D'Arcy's  visit  was 
expected,  a  telegraphic  despatch  arrived  from  Hav- 
re. It  wras  handed  to  me  by  Evelyn  to  open  and 
read.  It  ran  thus  : 


LOVED   IN    VAIN.  199 

"  Pressing  public  business  recalls  me  to  America. 
I  sail  to-night.  Will  write  from  Cowes. 

"PHILIP  D'ARCY." 

A  sigh  of  inexpressible  relief  burst  from  Evelyn's 
overcharged  bosom,  as  she  murmured  involuntarily, 
"Thank  God."  Last  evening,  at  the  same  hour 
had  an  event  so  unexpected  occurred,  how  different 
would  have  been  her  feelings  !  Truly  "  we  know 
not  what  a  day  may  bring  forth." 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 
CORRESPONDENCE. 

Two  days  and  the  promised  letter  arrived,  the 
very  superscription  and  seal  proclaiming  it  the  pro- 
duction of  no  ordinary  writer.  Opening  the  missive 
you  at  once  remark  the  clear,  decided,  manly  char- 
acters. No  dashes,  (impotent  attempts  of  weakness 
to  convey  the  idea  of  force),  deface  the  spotless 
page ;  the  style  terse,  and  at  the  same  time  elegant, 
reveals  the  scholar  and  the  gentleman.  The  signa- 
ture, at  once  bold  and  distinct,  has  the  characteristic 
finish,  rather  than  flourish,  which  at  once  individu- 
alizes the  writer.  Truly  there  is  more  in  an  auto- 
graph than  meets  the  eye  of  the  casual  observer. 
Give  me  a  letter  and  I  will  undertake  to  designate 
the  salient  points  in  the  character  and  disposition  of 
its  author.  The  epistle  in  question  was  addressed 
to  Evelyn,  and  simply  stated  that  public  affairs  hav- 
ing assumed  a  very  serious  aspect,  he  (D'Arcy),  had 
received  a  mandate  from  an  official  personage,  re- 


CORRESPONDENCE.  201 

questing  his  immediate  presence  at  Washington, 
and  offering  him  a  responsible  post  under  govern- 
ment. That  in  view  of  the  present  sad  political  dif- 
ficulties which  threatened  his  beloved  country,  he 
thought  it  his  duty  to  tender  his  poor  services  to  the 
nation.  Though  his  affections,  he  added,  were  dear 
— most  dear  to  him — still  he  felt  that  honor  and 
duty  must  take  precedence  even  of  love.  In 
conclusion  he  expressed  the  hope  of  a  speedy  re- 
turn to  Europe,  but  added  that  as  his  sweet  Ella's 
extreme  youth  rendered  an  immediate  marriage  un- 
advisable,  he  would  wait  with  patience,  convinced 
that  every  additional  moment  passed  with  her  dear 
and  valued  mother,  would  be  fraught  with  inestima- 
ble advantage  to  his  young  bride.  Leaving  her,  there- 
fore, to  Evelyn,  as  a  sacred  charge,  he  invoked  on 
the  beloved  heads  of  both  a  farewell  blessing. 

Such  was  D'Arcy's  first  letter.  Single  hearted, 
true  and  noble,  he  framed  no  polite  excuses  for  ap- 
parent neglect  in  not  having  called  to  bid  them  a 
personal  adieu.  lie  knew  they  would  understand 
him,  and  he  was  right.  It  now  appeared  to  me  that 
there  was  a  marked  change  in  Evelyn.  All  her 
passionate  love  for  D'Arcy  seemed  to  have  merged 
into  a  fond  desire  to  educate  Ella  for  him.  She 
accepted  the  holy  task  he  had  confided  to  her,  and 
made  a  firm  resolve  to  devote  her  faculties  wholly 


202  CORRESPONDENCE. 

to  the  furtherance  of  his  wishes.  Thus,  no  longer 
living  as  before  utterly  in  the  self-hood,  but  rather 
seeking  the  good  of  others,  she  could  not  fail  to 
bring  a  blessing  on  herself. 

"We  passed  the  remainder  of  the  summer  at  Passy, 
near  Paris,  where  Rossini  has  a  beautiful  villa,  and 
where,  others  of  our  friends  were  also  residing.  Ex- 
pecting shortly  the  arrival  of  Balzano,  we  had 
thought  it  inexpedient  to  journey  further.  But 
weeks  were  added  to  days,  and  months  to  weeks, 
and  yet  no  letter  came  "  He  will  doubtless  come 
without  writing,"  we  said,  and  so  saying,  daily 
looked  we  for  his  advent.  Our  frequent  talk  now 
was  of  beloved  Italy,  and  of  the  happy  days  we  had 
passed  beneath  the  placid  azure  of  its  heavens. 

"  Ah !  me,"  sighed  my  friend,  "  how  rarely  do 
we  value  the  present  till  it  has  faded  into  the  past ! 
We  spend  our  lives  in  wild  hopes  of  the  future — in 
sad  regrets  for-  bygone  days.  Folly — to  the  present 
with  its  pleasures  and  pains  may  we  alone  lay  claim  as 
our  own.  Do  you  remember,  Mary,  the  fairy-like/efo 
given  by  the  Conte  de  Syracuse,  in  that  exquisitely 
lovely  mountain  glade  at  Castellamare,  so  shadowy 
with  graceful  trees,  through  whose  branches  here 
and  there,  a  briglit  glint  of  sunshine  gilded  the  rocks, 
dancing  over  the  feathery  fern,  and  causing  the  rivulet 
to  sparkle  with  a  clearer  crystal  2  how  sapphire  blue 


CORRESPONDENCE.  203 

lay  the  Mediterranean,  viewed  through  the  intersti- 
ces of  the  varied  foliage.  It  was  truly  a  scene  of 
enchantment,  and  reminded  me  of  those  days  chron- 
icled by  Boccaccio  when  six  gallant  cavaliers  with 
their  noble  dames  retired  together  to  the  fair  gar- 
dens of  Sans  Souci  that  they  might  avoid  the  in 
fection  of  the  pestilence  then  desolating  the  doomed 
city  of  Florence." 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  and  how  picturesque  the  table 
prepared  as  it  were,  by  the  genii  of  the  forest ;  how 
brilliant  the  dresses  of  the  ladies,  and  though  last, 
not  least,  how  cool  and  refreshing  the  well  iced 
champagne  !  And,  after  the  collation,  how  charm- 
ingly wild  our  dance  on  the  greensward  to  the  stir- 
ring music  of  the  invisible  orchestra  deeply  hidden 
in  the  woods." 

"  And  the  Prince,  too,  how  wickedly  and  mali- 
ciously he  insisted  on  the  stout  old  Baroness  de  R 

being  his  partner  in  the  polka,  till  she  looked  ac- 
tually purple,  so  that  we  feared  every  minute  her 
desire  to  oblige  H.  R.  H.  would  cause  her  to  faint 
•with  fatigue.  Oh  !  Mary,  those  were  merry  days  ! 
The  silver  moon  arose  to  look  upon  our  sport,  and 
the  fire-flies  came  and  danced  with  us." 

"  And  you  remember  the  pretty  compliment  the 
Prince  paid  you,  Evelyn,  about  the  pearls?  You 
had  your  hair  braided,  and  bonnet  trimmed  with 


204:  CORRESPONDENCE. 

these  ornaments — bracelets  and  necklace  to  match. 
His  Royal  Highness  said  '  Pearls  in  the  hair,  on  the 
neck,  and  the  rounded  white  arms,  but  the  finest 
pearls  of  all  are  within  the  rosy  lips.'  " 

"Ah !  Mary,  remind  me  not  of  my  days  of  vanity 
and  folly.  Have  I  not  sufficiently  suffered  for  my 
poor  triumphs  ?  Had  I  been  less  handsome  I  might 
have  been  a  better  and  a  happier  woman." 

"  You  may  yet  be  both,  dearest ,  it  is  not  too  late." 

Thus  time  passed,  and  we  returned  to  Paris,  no 
reply  having  as  yet  arrived  from  Naples,  so  we  be- 
gan to  think  that,  (as  is  frequently  the  case  there), 
Evelyn's  letter  might  have  miscarried.  She  was 
just  preparing  to  write  again,  when  one  morning 
Ella  entered,  frantic  with  delight. 

"  A  letter  !  a  letter  !"  she  exclaimed,  "  from  dear 
Italy.  What  will  mama  give  for  it?  a  kiss — no, 
two,  at  least  three — there,"  and  Evelyn  took  it,  and 
broke  the  seal.  It  was  in  di  Balzano's  fine  Italian 
hand,  and  as  follows : 

Naples,  Nov.  — ,  18—. 

Mr  DEAR  MRS.  TRAVERS  :  I  feel  much  distressed  and 
mortified  in  that  I  fear  you  must  have  considered 
me  ungrateful,  and  wanting  in  politeness ;  but  you 
will,  I  trust,  now  pardon  the  silence  I  have  been 
compelled  to  observe  towards  you.  It  is  time  I 


CORRESPONDENCE.  205 

should  inform  you  that  I  am  already  married.  Such, 
however,  being  the  case,  remember  it  is  yourself 
who  have  constrained  me  to  this  step,  by  your  in- 
decision. But  we  will  no  longer  speak  of  the  past. 
May  I  hope  that  being  made  aware  of  my  marriage 
will  not  prevent  your  still  preserving  for  me  that 
same  friendship  you  have  ever  accorded  to  one  who 
will  never  cease  most  deeply  to  appreciate  it.  For 
my  part,  I  should  be  truly  delighted  once  more  to 
meet  you,  because  I  still  feel  for  you  a  profound 
affection  ;  having  once  loved  you  intensely  and 
passionately.  I  am  thankful  that  your  health  is  re- 
established. Saluting  you  a  thousand  times,  I  am 
as  ever  your  true  friend, 

GIOVANNI,  DUCA  DI  BALZANO. 

"  See,  Mary,"  said  poor  Evelyn,  handing  me  the 
letter  with  a  melancholy  smile,  "  it  is  my  sad  doom 
to  lose  all  I  love,  all  that  have  loved  me  !" 

We  heard  later  that  Balzano's  marriage  bad 
originated  first,  as  is  the  custom  in  Italy,  in  the 
wishes  of  the  respective  families  of  the  young  peo- 
ple, the  duke  being  averse  to  the  connexion.  Bal- 
zano  was  thus  necessarily  much  thrown  into  the 
society  of  the  young  lady,  who  became  deeply  at- 
tached to  him — so  much  so,  that  perceiving  his  in- 
difference she  took  it  so  seriously  to  heart  that 


206  CORRESPONDENCE. 

consumption  threatened.  Balzano,  ever  compas- 
sionate and  unselfish,  pitied  the  girl,  and  not 
having  for  months  had  any  tidings  of  his  former  be- 
trothed, consented  at  last  to  the  wishes  of  his  friends, 
backed  by  the  advice  of  the  priests.  A  marriage 
was  arranged ;  singularly  enough,  it  was  not  till  his 
return  from  church,  on  the  morning  of  the  wedding, 
that  Evelyn's  letter  of  acceptance  was  placed  in  his 
hands — thus  may  the  three  months'  silence,  on  his 
part,  he  accounted  for. 

Meanwhile,  D'Arcy's  letters  came  almost  every 
mail ;  they  were  partly  to  Evelyn,  partly  to  Ella ; 
and  were  answered  conjointly  by  both.  Ella  would 
have  deferred  the  marriage  indefinitely,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  bad  news  from  Naples  ;  but  her 
mother  would  not  suffer  the  subject  even  to  be  al- 
luded to :  "  My  child,"  she  said,  "  let  us  leave  the 
future  to  Providence,  patiently  awaiting  the  accom- 
plishment of  our  destiny." 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE        BARONET. 

AMONG  the  crowd  of  English  sojourning  in  Paris 
thia  winter,  there  was  an  old  acquaintance  of  ours 
— a  certain  Sir  Percy  Montgomery,  Bart.,  late 

M.  P.  for shire.     Some  six  years  ago,  when 

in  London,  Sir  Percy  had  visited  Evelyn,  and  we 
had  dined  occasionally  at  his  house  in  Grosvenor 
Street.  Indeed,  the  Baronet  had  been  at  that  time 
a  warm  though  unsuccessful  admirer  of  our  heroine. 
Sir  Percy  was,  in  appearance,  a  perfect  "  John 
Bull" — that  is  to  say,  he  possessed  a  countenance 
rubicund  and  somewhat  flat,  with  no  very  marked 
features — figure  stout — burly — broad-shouldered — 
thick  set,  you  perceived  at  a  glance  that  the  animal 
nature  preponderated  in  the  man ;  nevertheless, 
the  square  and  rather  massive  forehead  displayed 
intellect,  and  the  tine  teeth,  seen  to  advantage  in  a 
pleasant  jovial  smile  of  not  unfrequent  occurrence, 
rendered  the  personal  appearance  of  our  friend,  if 


208  THE   BAKONET. 

somewhat  coarse,  not  altogether  unpleasing.  Let 
not  my  readers,  however,  imagine  that  the 
"  John-Bull  "  type  is  the  true  type  of  our  country- 
men. They  will,  on  referring  to  a  former  chapter 
of  this  work,  find  the  portrait  of  an  accomplished 
English  gentleman,  in  our  delineation  of  the  young 
and  aristocratic  Melville.  We  have  there  depicted 
elegance,  manliness  and  chivalry,  in  combination 
with  the  splendid  physical  "development,  only  to  be 
seen  in  perfection  in  the  Anglo-Saxon  race.  But,  to 
return.  Sir  Percy  was  by  no  means  wanting  in 
brains.  He  had  made  some  sensation  in  Parlia- 
ment ;  and,  having  had  the  tact  to  speak  on  the 
popular  side  of  each  question,  his  fluency  was 
greatly  appreciated,  and  he  had  thus  acquired  a 
higher  reputation  than  his  (not  first  rate)  talents 
perhaps  merited.  So  the  Times  wondered  when  he 
resigned  his  seat ;  and  the  Herald  and  other  Tory 
papers  were  open  in  their  rather  uncharitable  sur- 
mises, as  to  the  motives  for  so  sudden  and  untimely 
a  retreat  in  the  late  M.  P. 

Sir  Percy,  having  discovered  our  address  at  Ga- 
lignani's,  lost  no  time  in  paying  his  respects  to  Eve- 
lyn, and  continued  his  visits  from  time  to  time. 
Evelyn  soon  named  him  my  adorer,  and  said  it  would 
not  be  such  a  bad  match ;  the  baronet  was  of  a  good 
family,  and  reputed  rich,  though,  as  some  asserted, 


THE   BARONET.  209 

rich  in  debts  alone.  He  had,  at  least,  talent,  and  if 
I  did  not  object  to  his  lack  of  personal  beauty,  and 
his  fifty  years,  she  added,  I  might  do  worse  than  be- 
come Lady  Montgomery.  Ever  occupied  with  re- 
ceiving and  replying  to  D'Arcy's  frequent  letters, 
or  in  reading,  talking  and  practising  with  Ella,  my 
friend  paid  but  slight  attention  to  a  former  admirer 
— for  whom  she  had  never  felt  even  a  passing  gleam 
of  sympathy — until  one  day  she  received  from  him 
a  rather  melancholy  letter ;  making  her  in  some  sort 
a  confidante,  the  writer  threw  out  dark  hints  of 
debts  and  difficulties  which  had  exiled  him  from  his 
native  land,  and  adverted  mysteriously  to  envious 
political  rivals,  who  were  endeavoring  to  work  his 
ruin,  and  who  had,  alas!  succeeded  in  putting  a 
present  stop  to  a  career  which  would  have  other- 
wise shortly  ended  in  the  Cabinet.  Much  changed 
for  the  better,  since  her  acquaintance  with  Philip 
D'Arcy,  and  somewhat  hurt  and  humiliated  by  the 
unexpected  marriage  of  di  Balzano,  our  heroine 
opened  her  heart  in  pity  for  the  baronet's  misfor- 
tunes ;  had  not  she,  too,  suffered  from  envious 
tongues  ?  had  not  slander  been  to  her  as  "  the  worm 
which  never  dieth  ?"  Cruel,  cruel  world  !  thou  art 
indeed  a  hard  master — offend  against  thy  laws — 
break  thy  one  commandment  "  Thou  shalt  not  be 
found  out "  and  thou  art  utterly  without  pity,  even 


210  THE   BAKONET. 

to  the  exclusion  of  all  repentance ; — cruel,  cruel 
world !  And  so  Evelyn  took  compassion  on  the 
injured  man,  and  invited  him  oftener,  and  sym- 
pathized with  his  griefs,  and  was  in  every  way  kind 
to  him.  Thus  did  circumstances  favor  his  suit. 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  society  at  last  coupled 
their  names  together,  and  Sir  Percy  himself,  mis 
taking  the  sentiments  of  one  who  no  longer  had  a 
heart  to  give,  made  our  heroine  an  offer  of  his  hand 
in  a  letter  which  appeared  to  me  to  allude  to  the 
lady's  fortune  rather  than  to  herself.  Evelyn  an- 
swered that  she  would  take  time  to  consider  the 
proposal,  provided  Sir  Percy  could  assure  her  on  his 
honor  as  a  gentleman  that  there  was  no  blemish  at- 
tached to  his  name.  This  assurance,  as  may  be  im- 
agined, the  baronet  readily  gave.  My  dearest  friend 
then  spoke  to  me  fully  and  confidentially ;  frank- 
ly confessing  that  she  no  longer  hoped  for  hap- 
piness on  earth,  she  at  the  same  time  added,  that 
she  was  anxious  to  marry,  hoping  that  enshrined 
within  the  sacred  precincts  of  a  husband's  home, 
and  safely  sheltered  by  his  protection,  she  should 
have  strength  to  crush  forever  from  out  her  heart 
that  now  guilty  passion  which  still  tortured  her. 

"  I  could  not,"  she  continued,  "  again  meet 
D'Arcy  except  as  a  wife — no.  I  too  much  fear  my 
own  weakness.  I  should  sink  to  the  earth  with 


THE   BAKONET.  211 

shame,  did  he  for  one  moment  suspect  the  state 
of  my  heart.  Besides,  I  gave  him  my"  word  I 
would  marry,  and  at  any  cost  I  will  keep  my  prom 
ise.  Ella,  too,  dear  child,  is  firmly  resolved  never 
to  wed  till  she  sees  her  mother,  as  she  imagines, 
happy.  Ah !  Mary,  does  not  this  man's  offer  ap- 
pear to  you  as  it  does  to  me,  almost  as  a  providen- 
tial occurrence  ?" 

"  Had  you  not  better  at  least  wait  Mr.  D'Arcy's 
next  letter  before  you  give  a  definite  reply  to  Sir 
Percy  f" 

"Yes,  my  friend,  I  will  wait.  You  are  right. 
Dear  Mary,  my  soul  is  bound  up  in  the  future  hap- 
piness of  Philip  and  that  of  my  Ella,  but  like  St. 
Paul  I  may  say,  "  I  feel  two  laws  warring  within 
me,  and  these  are  contrary,  the  one  to  the  other,  so 
that  when  I  would  do  good,  evil  is  present  with 
me." 

And  the  expected  letter  came,  and  it  stated  that 
war  having  been  declared  between  the  North  and 
South,  it  was  quite  impossible  for  D'Arcy  to  leave 
his  post.  Nor  could  he  forsee  when  he  dared  hope 
to  return  to  Europe.  Could  not  his  beloved  friends, 
he  suggested,  all  come  over  to  New  York  next  sum- 
mer ?  He  would  place  at  their  disposition  The  Re- 
treat, a  villa  beautifully  situated  on  the  banks  of 
the  Hudson,  which  it  would  afford  him  the  greatest 


212  THE   BAKONET. 

pleasure  if  they  would  occupy  as  long  as  the  weath- 
er should  render  such  a  sojourn  agreeable.  In  con- 
clusion, he  reminded  Evelyn,  that  being  already 
familiar  with  the  continent  of  Europe,  the  difference 
of  scenery  and  the  manner  of  living  in  the  New 
World,  would  greatly  interest  her,  and  that  she 
would  find  in  this  splendid  country  much  to  com- 
pensate her  for  the  fatigues  of  the  voyage.  D'Arcy 
had  never  in  any  letter  alluded  either  directly  or  in- 
directly to  our  heroine's  projected  marriage,  nor  had 
he  ever  known  the  name  of  her  probable  husband, 
the  fact  alone  of  her  engagement  having  been  com- 
municated to  him  by  the  imprudence  of  Ella. 

That  same  day  Evelyn  wrote  an  acceptance  to 
Sir  Percy  Montgomery. 

And  Ella — was  she  charmed  with  her  mother's 
present  prospects  ?  Truth  compels  us  to  declare  she 
was  not ;  nor  djd  she  ever  cease  expressing  to  me 
her  lively  regret  that  her  mama  was  so  unwise  as  to 
prefer  the  baronet  to  dear,  good,  handsome  Balzano, 
who  was  likewise  of  higher  rank,  and  also  of  one 
of  the  oldest  families  of  mediaeval  Italy.  But  Ella  had 
not,  as  we  know,  been  made  aware  of  the  chain  of 
circumstances  which  led  to  such  a  step  on  her  mo- 
ther's part ;  so  she  contented  herself  by  adding,  as  a 
last  consolation,  in  the  only  Latin  words  she  knew, 
"di  gustibus  non  est  disputandem"  Since,  then, 


THE  BARONET.  213 

we  cannot  "  account  for  tastes,"  still  less  may  we 
understand  the  multiform  caprices  of  beauty.  This, 
however,  I  will  say,  and  I  appeal  to  the  lovely  of  my 
own  sex  who  have  passed  the  age  of  thirty,  to  cor- 
roborate my  assertion  :  Is  there  not  some  period  in 
the  life  of  each  woman,  when  she  would  scarcely 
have  thought  any  one  worthy  of  herself?  And  is 
there  not,  likewise,  another  period,  when,  in  her 
isolation,  she  might  have  been  tempted  to  marry 
the  first  eligible  person  who  asked  her  ?  I  fear  me 
such  is  too  often  the  case. 

I  will  here  mention  an  incident  which  occurred 
apropos  to  this  marriage  :  One  evening,  after  din- 
ner, Ella  complaining  of  a  headache,  her  mother,  as 
was  her  wont,  made  over  her  a  few  mesmeric 
passes,  in  order  to  quiet  the  nerves.  The  young 
girl  slept  the  magnetic  sleep,  as  we  perceived  by 
the  rigidity  of  the  muscles,  and  other  signs  under- 
stood by  the  initiated.  As  Ella  slept,  I  placed 
in  her  hand  a  letter,  which  had  just  chanced  to  ar- 
rive from  Sir  Percy.  Instantly  she  became  con- 
vulsed ;  and,  crushing  the  paper  in  her  slender  fin- 
gers, she -flung  it  suddenly  from  her,  exclaiming — 

"  I  will  not  look  at  that  man  ;  take  him  out  of  my 
sight — he  has  no  heart — no  honor." 

The  clairvoyante  trembled  violently,  drawing  her 
breath  with  difficultv.  We  did  not  dare  force  her 


214  THE  BARONET. 

to  continue  looking  upon  a  disagreeable  object; 
for,  by  such  means,  epileptic  convulsions  have  been 
occasionally  induced  in  an  impressible  subject,  and 
sometimes  even  death  has  been  known  to  supervene. 

So  Evelyn  took  her  hand,  as  she  now  tranquilly 
slept,  saying,  "  Then  tell  me,  sweet  one,  shall  I  be 
happy  ?" 

An  angelic  smile  broke  over  the  features  of  the 
lovely  entranced,  as  she  exclaimed,  "  You,  dearest 
mother !  Oh,  yes — by  your  talents,  your  superior 
mind,  your  beautiful  soul — not  else,"  and  she 
sighed. 

Evelyn  then  awoke  the  young  girl,  who  of  comse 
was  aware  of  nothing  that  had  passed  during  her 
mesmeric  sleep  ;  but  her  mother  mused  and  won- 
dered, and  again  I  trembled  for  the  future. 


CHAPTER   XXYI. 

THREE   MONTHS   OF  MARRIED   LIFE. 

IT  was  in  her  second  wifehood  that  Evelyn,  Lady 
Montgomery,  first  set  foot,  on  the  shores  of  the  New 
World.  Our  voyage  across  the  broad  Atlantic  had 
been  devoid  of  incident,  and  untroubled  by  storm. 
An  occasional  squall,  it  is  true,  would  banish  us  for 
a  day  to  our  heaving  couches,  where,  prostrate  and 
utterly  helpless,  we  felt  as  if  our  head,  detached 
from  our  shoulders,  were  rolling  about  the  cabin, 
and  the  malignant  sprites  of  ocean  were  recklessly 
and  remorselessly  sporting  with  it  as  with  a  foot-ball. 

We  entered  the  magnificent  bay  of  New  York, 
lighted  by  the  glorious  August  moon  with  her 
myriads  of  attendant  stars,  which,  seen  through  the 
pure  ether  of  the  western  firmament,  seemed  multi 
plied  to  infinity.  The  constellations  of  the  belted 
Orion,  the  greater  and  lesser  Bear,  and  others,  ap- 
peared strangely  familiar  ;  viewing  them,  we  were 
fain  to  forget  the  thousands  of  miles  which  now 


216  THEEE   MONTHS   OF   MARRIED   LIFE. 

separated  us  from  the  land  of  our  birth.  But  our 
first  step  on  terra  firm  a  quickly  dispelled  the  illu- 
sion. The  disagreeables  of  the  Custom  House  at 
an  end,  leaving  our  heavy  baggage  till  the  morrow, 
with  difficulty  we  climbed  into  the  heavy,  hearse- 
like  vehicle  in  waiting,  which  it  seemed  next  to  im- 
possible to  enter,  and  once  in, equally  vain  and  futile 
to  attempt  the  getting  out.  Tossed  and  tumbled 
about  on  the  roughest  of  pavements,  our  heads  still 
giddy  from  our  recent  sea- voyage,  we  arrived  at 
that  gorgeous  palace,  yclept  the  Fifth  Avenue  Ho- 
tel. Happilyy  Mr.  D'Arcy,  (unable  through  press  of 
public  business  to  meet  us,)  had  kindly  written  to 
secure  rooms,  which  insured  to  our  party  the  atten- 
tion we  should  not  otherwise  have  received. 

Here  let  me  observe  that  I  entirely  endorse  all 
that  my  talented  countryman,  Anthony  Trollope, 
has  stated  regarding  the  inhospitality  of  the  enor- 
mous American  hotels,  where  weary  and  travel- 
worn  ladies  are  forced  to  await  in  the  wretched  re- 
ception parlors,  the  often  long  delayed  advent  of  the 
official  charged  to  show  them  their  rooms,  while 
gentlemen,  still  more  unfortunate,  must  attend  in 
the  office  the  favor  for  which  they  have  humbly 
made  supplication  to  His  Majesty  the  Book-keeper. 
How  different  from  the  hearty  welcome  of  "  Mine 
Host"  and  his  worthy  spouse,  in  the  cheerful,  old- 


THBEE   MONTHS   OF  MAERIED   LIFE.  217 

fashioned  inns  of  England ;  how  cheerily  the  land- 
lord enters,  and  stirring  the  fire,  makes  his  guests 
feel  instantly  at  home ;  while  the  good  wife,  were  you 
an  old  acquaintance,  could  not  proffer  for  you  with 
greater  kindness  the  best  fare  her  house  can  afford. 
The  pretty  chambermaid,  too,  candle  in  hand,  shows 
you  to  a  clean,  comfortable  bedroom,  leaving  at  the 
same  time,  all  the  requisites  for  your  toilet ;  and  as 
you  discuss  your  cutlet  or  roast  chicken,  the  waiter 
tells  you  of  all  to  be  seen  in  the  town  and  neighbor- 
hood. He  closes  the  shutters  and  draws  the  curtains, 
and  your  glass  of  sherry  or  old  port,  as  may  be, 
has  quite  a  home  flavor,  as  you  draw  your  easy-chair 
cosily  before  the  bright,  glad  fire,  which  itself  spark- 
les and  crackles  its  welcome. 

I  am  not  now  describing  the  London  or  new  railway 
hotels,  Heaven  forbid!  they  are  less  comfortable,  and 
far  more  expensive  than  those  in  America ;  but  I  al- 
lude to  the  charming  "  hostelries"  of  the  olden  times, 
some  of  which  still  exist,  though  "  few  and  far  be- 
tween." Thanks,  however,  to  the  kind  consideration 
of  Mr.  D'Arcy,  we  were  ushered  at  once  to  our 
suite  of  elegantly  furnished  rooms,  only  too  thank- 
ful to  seek  and  find  repose  in  the  luxurious  beds  of 
this  splendid  Hotel.  On  awakening,  next  morning, 
my  first  impression  of  New- York  was  as  if  I  saw 
pictured  before  me,  in  giant  proportions,  one  of  the 


218  THREE   MONTHS    OF   MARRIED   LIFE. 

toy  towns  with  their  in-niy  C'>lore<l  houses,  inter- 
spersed with  g:-een  trees,  that  used  to  c  >inc  to  me 
in  large  oval  deal  boxes  in  the  days  of  my  youth. 
Redbrick,  g'-ey,  brown,  white,  dark  chocolate  stone 
— all  of  iniiltifonri  size  and  shape,  such  is  the  des- 
cription of  the  dwellings,  in  this  metropolis  of  the 
west,  now  decked  in  its  mantle  of  summer  foliage. 

Our  heroine  had  been  wedded  about  three 
months — was  she  blessed  in  her  second  union  more 
than  in  her  first  marriage? 

My  kind  and  gentle  readers,  she  was  not  happy — 
yet  she  was  content.  But  had  she  ever  before 
indulged  in  any  illusions,  as  regards  Sir  Percy,  they 
must  have,  quickly  faded.  Even  on  returning 
from  the  Church,  his  bride  at  his  side,  not  one  word 
of  affection  did  the  newly  made  husband  utter ;  of 
himself  alone  he  spoke — his  position,  his  future  ;  but 
then,  to  be  sure,  he  was  turned  of  fifty,  and  as 
Byron  observes,  rather  than  one  husband  at  that 
mature  age, 

"  'Twere  better  to  have  two,  at  five-and-twenty." 

This  was  the  beginning  of  sorrows. 

Immediately  after  the  breakfast,  the  impatient 
bridegroom,  anxious,  doubtless,  to  embrace  the  fair 
lady  he  dared  now  call  his  own,  knocked  at  the  door 


THREE  MONTHS  OF  MAREIED  LIFE.      219 

of  her  chamber,  where,  divested  of  her  bridal  cos- 
tume, she  was  arraying  herself  in  a  becoming  trav- 
elling toilette.  When  admitted,  the  grateful  lover 

begged — now  guess,  dear  ladies.     I  pray  what 

Why  for  the  loan  of  a  few  hundred  francs  to  pay 
his  bill  at  the  hotel.  Eather  early,  methinks,  to 
usurp  marital  rights  over  his  wife's  purse.  Poor 
Evelyn's  next  fit  of  disgust  was  on  the  morrow  of 
her  bridal,  when,  in  an  elegant  morning  robe  of  the 
freshest  inuslin,  her  hair  braided  under-the  prettiest 
of  caps,  she  with  horror  beheld  Sir  Percy  enter  the 
room,  unwashed,  uncombed,  unbraced,  and  per- 
fectly innocent  of  a  clean  shirt.  Seating  himself  at 
the  breakfast  table,  he  commenced  feeding,  utterly 
unconscious  of  having  committed  an  unpardonable 
crime  against  good  manners.  Unfortunate  Evelyn  I 
so  refined,  so  fastidious,  so  exquisitely  neat  and 
clean  in  her  personal  habits,  to  be  brought  to  this. 
"  Oh  !  what  a  falling  off  was  there  1" 

Sir  Percy  united  in  his  own  person  those  opposite 
defects  which  in  others  are  usually  compensated  by 
corresponding  virtues.  He  was  at  the  same  time  a 
spendthrift,  and  the  meanest  of  men.  Hasty  and 
imprudent,  yet  sly  and  cunning,  with  an  appear- 
ance of  frankness,  he  combined  an  utter  disre- 
gard of  truth.  He  seemed  to  lie  for  the  pleasure  of 
lying.  His  temper  was  alike  quick,  vindictive,  and 


220       THKEE  MONTHS  OF  MARRIED  LIFE. 

revengeful,  and  his  character  comprised  the  oppo- 
site qualities  of  weakness  and  obstinacy.  A  general 
lover  of  the  female  sex,  he  was  utterly  incapable  of 
individual  attachment.  It  was  clear  that  the  baro- 
net had  married  for  money,  but  finding  that  his  wife 
contented  herself  simply  with  paying  their  mutual  ex- 
penses, and  refused  to  place  her  fortune  in  his  power, 
he  actually  began  to  dislike  her  and  made  no  secret 
of  the  feeling.  One  illustration  I  will  give,  and  this 
is  but  a  solitary  instance  of  the  extraordinary  line 
of  conduct  pursued  by  Sir  Percy  towards  her  he  had 
so  recently  sworn  to  love,  protect  and  cherish  during 
the  term  of  their  natural  life. 

Angered  one  night  because  Evelyn  had  left  him  a 
email  portion  of  his  own  travelling  expenses  to  pay, 
he  rang  up  the  servants  of  the  hotel  at  midnight,  and 
though  we  were  to  start  on  the  following  morning  at 
break  of  day,  he  ordered  his  luggage  to  be  transport- 
ed and  his  bed  made  in  a  room  at  the  most  distant  end 
of  the  corridor,  thus  making  himself  and  his  wife  of 
a  month,  the  laughing-stock  of  the  hotel.  We  do  not 
pretend  the  man  was  altogether  devoid  of  good  im- 
pulses ;  but  the  evil  of  his  nature  was  strong — the 
good  feeble.  He  was  ungrateful,  heartless,  unprin- 
cipled. Evelyn  had  before  known  only  the  reverse 
of  the  picture ;  she  had  been  adored,  petted,  spoiled. 
How  could  she  conceive  so  exceptional  a  character 


THBEE   MONTHS   OF  MAKKIED   LIFE.  221 

as  that  of  Sir  Percy  ?  How  bear  with  him  ?  Dear 
friends,  she  did  bear  with  him,  and  she  was  not 
wretched,  for  she  now  knew  that  all  trials  are  the 
just  retribution  for  past  sins  committed,  past  duties 
unperformed.  Alas!  we  cannot  escape  the  past, 
still  does  it  pursue  us  like  an  avenging  spectre ; 
and  so  she  resolved  to  endure  all,  looking  no 
longer  to  earth  for  bliss,  living  ever  in  the 
sweet  calm  and  beauty  of  the  inner  life,  which 
proceeds  from  the  Christ  who  shines  on  the  souls 
of  all  who  will  receive  him  as  the  pure  and  per- 
fect law. 

No  longer  spell-bound  by  her  passionate  love  for 
D'Arcy,  he  was  yet  dear — dearer  to  her  than  ever, 
for  to  him  alone  she  owed  all  her  strength  to  bear,  all 
her  courage  to  do  ;  through  him  she  had  been  enabled 
to  behold  the  radiant,  the  immeasureable  life  of  the 
beyond,  as  the  one  great  reality  of  our  being, 
compared  to  ivhich  this  earth  life,  did  it  last  a 
century,  is  but  as  a  span,  a  point  in  eternity,  "  a 
dream  when  one  awaketh."  Oh,  had  she  real- 
ized these  blessed  truths  in  earliest  youth,  how 
different  might  have  been  her  fate!  But,  re- 
pulsed by  narrow  -  minded  sectarianism,  mis- 
called religion,  she  had  strayed  without  a  guide 
in  devious  paths. 


222  THREE   MONTHS   OF   MAERIED   LIFE. 

The  idea  of  a  future  existence  had  then  loomed 
darkly  before  her  young  imaginations  as  a  vague 
terror,  a  portentous  and  lurid  superstition  forc- 
ing her  to  an  unwilling  lip-service  of  prayer. 
Now  it  was  a  glorious  inspiration — hourly  in- 
fluencing her,  and  turning  the  common  inci- 
dents of  life  into  occasions  for  thanksgiving. 

For  she  knew  that  the  Infinite  Father  was  call- 
ing his  erring  child  home  through  her  loves  and 
through  her  griefs. 

With  this  sweet  conviction  can  tribulation  harm 
her?  I  trow  not.  Rather  do  her  crosses  and  her 
trials  cause  her  lonely  and  unsatisfied  heart  to  rise 
each  day  more  purely,  tenderly,  devotedly,  upward 
towards  God.  Then,  too,  she  tremblingly  believes 
she  may,  in  a  brighter  sphere,  be  united  in  the 
sweet  connubial  tie  to  one  who  shall  fully  realize 
the  ideal  of  her  soul.  So,  loving  and  beloved,  she 
will  no  longer  dwell 


'As  one  companionless 
In  essence,  heart  distressed  and  pining  ever 
With  anguished  yearning  for  a  tenderness 
Forever  widely  sought,  experienced  never."* 


*  "  Lyric  of  the  Golden  Age,"  by  Rev.  T.  L.  Harris. 


THREE   MONTHS    OF   MARRIED   LIFE.  223 

Is  she  mistaken  ?  I  cannot  think  so.  Is  it  possi- 
ble to  form  too  exalted  an  idea  of  the  joys  "  God 
hath  prepared  for  them  that  love  him,"  which,  we 
are  told,  "  it  hath  not  entered  into  the  heart  of  man 
to  conceive  ?"  Yet,  we  may  faintly  shadow  those 
ecstatic  raptures,  if  we  remember  that  every  faculty 
of  the  mind,  each  affection  of  the  spirit,  will  then 
be  fully  and  forever  occupied  in  fulfilling  its  highest 
destinies — LOVE,  KNOWLEDGE,  USE.*  Sublime  trin- 
ity !  Such  the  occupations  of  the  angels  throughout 
eternity ;  and  for  those  who  here  exercise  them- 
selves in  these  Christian  graces,  heaven  has  already 
begun  on  earth  ! 

Nor  do  these  truly  catholic  doctrines  militate 
against  a  life  of  activity  here  —  they  are  rather 
anti-monastic — teaching  that  the  life  of  the  body  is 
necessary  for  the  soul,  and  that  the  happiness  of  the 
spirit  hereafter  will  be  proportionate  to  the  use  we 
make  of  all  our  faculties  and  talents  in  the  terres- 
trial state ;  while  the  contrary  must  be  expected  in 
the  world  of  spirits,  from  a  life  of  idleness  ;  truly 
blessed  they 

"  in  this  loud  stunning  tide 
Of  human  care  and  crime, 
With  whom  the  melodies  abide 


*  See  Swedenborg's  works ;  also,  "  Arcana  of  Christianity,"  by 
Eev.  T.  L.  Harris. 


224:  THREE   MONTHS   OF   MARRIED   LIFE. 

Of  th'  everlasting  chime  ; 

Who  carry  music  in  their  heart 

Through  dusky  lane  and  wrangling  mart, 

Plying  their  daily  task  toith  busier  feet, 

Because  their  secret  souls  a  holier  strain  repeat."* 

*  "Keble's  Christian  Year." 


CHAPTER     XXVII. 

FIFTH        AVBNUE       HOTEL. 

LADY  MONTGOMERY'S  DIABT. 

New  Fork,  Aug.  1.0th. — Seated  in  the  window 
of  our  parlor,  I  once  more  write  my  thoughts  in  my 
journal.  The  wind  is  sultry — scarce  a  movement 
stirs  the  trees  in  Madison  Square,  although  the  snn 
has  long  since  sunk  below  the  horizon.  Mary  is  play- 
ing Chopin's  music  on  a  fine  piano  of  Chickering's, 
sent  here  to  wait  our  arrival — a  graceful  attention 
from  Philip  D'Arcy.  I  have  just  implored  dear 
Mary  to  repeat  that  Impromptu,  to  which  the  twi- 
light lends  additional  charm.  Oh  !  how  infinitely 
do  I  prefer  instrumental  to  vocal  music,  especially 
to  the  conventionalism  of  the  modern  school  of  Ital- 
ian singing;  even  when  the  latter  is  well  executed, 
(which  is  rare)  you  know  each  intonation  which 
will  be  given  j  all  is  too  material,  it  chains  you  down 


^O  FIFTH    AVENUE    HOTEL. 

to  its  own  level — while  the  listening  to  a  classical 
instrumental  symphony  is  like  following  a  long, 
closely -connected  chain  of  reasoning,  and  at  the  same 
time  you  are  inspired  with  a  thousand  new  ideas  and 
sensations;  or  the  phrases  of  musical  diction  accom- 
pany you  in  the  train  of  thought  you  are  at  the  time 
pursuing — brightening,  poetizing  all.  How  1  love 
to  wander  with  the  serious,  philosophic  Beethoven, 
through  mazes  of  tangled  modulations,  at  the  same 
time  clear  and  intricate,  to  revel  in  the  delicious 
harmonized  melodies  of  the  divine  Mozart,  to  drink 
in  the  weird  and  plaintive  tones  of  the  melancholy 
Weber,  to  muse,  and  sigh  with  the  poet  pianiste 
Chopin,  criticising  naught,  analyzing  naught,  float- 
ing as  it  were,  in  an  ocean  of  sweet  sounds,  lost  in 
a  reverie  of  ineffable  bliss.  Oh  !  if  our  most  intense 
and  delicious  emotions  are  those  of  the  miud,  the 
spirit,  who  can  say  that  the  individual  perishes  with 
the  worthless  clay  of  the  body  ! 

"L\th. — I  had  written  thus  far  when  Philip  D'Arcy 
entered,  unexpected^-un  announced.  Oh !  sweet 
surprise  !  if  partings  here  are  painful,  there  is  at  least 
compensation  in  again  meeting  those  we  love,  when 
the  charm  of  their  dear  presence  is  as  sunlight  af- 
ter storm,  as  rest  to  the  weary — as  the  fragrance  of 
spring  flowers  after  the  snows  of  winter.  In  D'Arcy 
especially,  as  I  have  before  mentioned,  this  power 


FIFTH   AVENUE   HOTEL.  227 

of  fascination  is  remarkable;  he  enters,  and  your 
very  soul  is  illumined  with  gladness,  he  departs,  and 
a  shadow  falls  on  all  around.  Softly,  tenderly,  hap- 
pily, we  conversed  in  the  dim  twilight,  the  three  I 
love  most  on  earth. 

Sir  Percy  was  from  home — he  is  rarely  with  us — 
D'Arcy  expressed  the  desire  to  make  my  husband's 
acquaintance.  My  husband,  how  strangely  from 
his  lips  did  those  words  grate  on  my  ear. 

Aug.  15^. — Since  I  last  wrote  in  my  diary,  only 
a  few  days  have  elapsed,  and  yet  what  events  I  It 
appears  to  me,  as  if  I  had  dreamed  a  horrible  dream 
and  have  at  last  awaked.  We  had  decided  on  leav- 
ing the  city  on  the  morrow,  escorted  by  D'Arcy,  for 
his  beautiful  villa  on  the  Hudson.  Sir  Percy,  was, 
as  usual,  out — but  Philip  determined  to  wait  his  re- 
turn in  order  to  see  him,  and  arrange  with  him  about 
our  journey — as  yet  they  had  never  met. 

Mary  had  retired  early,  feeling  unwell,  but  at  my 
request  Ella  remained  to  await  with  us  Sir  Percy's 
appearance.  At  about  eleven  we  heard  his  heavy 
step  in  the  corridor,  and  he  entered  the  room. 

"  What,  not  yet  in  bed  ?"  he  said. 

"  I  waited,"  I  replied,  "  to  present  you " 

The  sentence  was  never  finished,  for  at  this  mo- 
ment D'Arcy  emerged  from  the  shadow,  into  the 
full  glare  of  the  gas-light.  I  saw  Sir  Percy  stagger, 


228  FIFTH   AVENUE   HOTEL. 

as  a  drunken  man,  and  turn  almost  pale.  Thinking 
him  ill,  I  would  have  sprung  towards  him,  but  Philip 
caught  my  wrist  and  held  it  as  in  a  vice.  I  turned 
to  look  at  him.  To  say  that  hatred  and  scorn  flashed 
from  his  eyes  were  little,  his  entire  form  seemed  di- 
lated with  passion,  his  eyes  glowed  and  flamed  like 
live  coals,  his  lip  and  nostril  expressed  the  most 
profound  contempt. 

The  baronet,  on  the  other  hand,  seemed  paralyzed 
with  terror ;  his  fingers  worked,  and  his  hands  trem- 
bled fearfully;  his  eyes  (never  able  to  support  a 
look  without  flinching),  now  rolled  in  restless 
agony.  D'Arcy  paused  only  for  a  moment,  as  the 
tiger  before  his  deadly  spring — then,  with  one  bound 
he  cleared  the  space  between  himself  and  his  vic- 
tim :  "Oh!  cursed,  cursed  serpent,"  he  muttered,  be- 
tween his  clenched  teeth,  "  how  darest  thou  defile 
this  pure  Eden  with  the  foul  slime  of  thy  presence  ? 
Demon  in  human  form,"  and  the  delicate  and 
spiritual-looking  man  shook  his  sturdy  and  muscular 
adversary  as  a  reed,  "  demon,  I  say,  how  darest  thou 
violate  the  sanctity  of  this  angel  home.  Vile,  piti- 
less wretch,  where  is  poor  Alice  Vivian  ?  Answer,  if 
thy  lying  tongue  can  frame  one  word  of  truth,  didst 
thou  not  wed  her,  break  her  heart,  drive  her  to  mad- 
ness, and  then  shut  her  up  with  gibbering  maniacs 
in  a  madhouse?  and  now  she  lives — no  denial,  I  say," 


FIFTH   AVENUE   HOTEL.  229 

(as  the  hardened  culprit  made  a  movement  of  dissent), 
"  she  lives !  by  Heaven,  she  lives,  thy  wronged,  thy 
wretched  wife  ;  a  wreck  in  soul  as  in  body.  Oh ! 
may  the  curse  of  a  desolate  heart  and  blighted  af- 
fections recoil  upon  thee,  may  rest  forsake  thy 
pillow,  and  peace  be  forever  a  stranger  to  thy  couch, 
that  thy  hard  heart  may  be  shivered  at  last,  as 
into  fragments,  by  blank  despair  —  despair  of  pity 
here,  of  mercy  hereafter !  May  God  himself  be 
deaf  to  the  prayers  wrung  from  thy  bitter  agony. 
No,  go — I  will  not  blaspheme :  if  thou  bee'st  a  devil 
I  cannot  kill  thee.  Go,  miserable  man,  and  repent 
—if  thou  canst." 

D'Arcy  still  held  the  cowed  and  trembling 
wretch  in  his  nervous  grasp.  Ella,  pale,  almost  faint- 
ing, had  quitted  the  room.  Silent,  motionless, 
horror-stricken,  with  dilated  eyes,  I  watched,  as  in 
a  nightmare,  the  fearful  scene,  powerless  to  speak 
or  scream.  I  saw  Philip  at  length  open  the  door, 
violently  ejecting,  almost  flinging  the  man  from  the 
room.  I  saw  no  more — my  trembling  limbs  refused 
any  longer  to  sustain  me.  I  sank  into  the  nearest 
chair,  sick — sick,  covering  my  face  with  my  hands, 
a  film  before  my  eyes.  On  recovering  consciousness, 
I  was  alone,  and  all  was  still. 


CHAPTER  XXYIII. 


SHADOWS. 


ELLA.    TO    PHILIP 

The  Retreat,  September  -  ,  18  -  . 

FOEGIVE  me  for  what  I  am  about  to  write.  In- 
deed, I  feel  that  I  am  performing  a  duty,  even 
though  my  dear  mother  is  ignorant  of  this  step.  I 
must,  however,  add,  that  I  have  the  full  approba- 
tion of  one  who  never  fails  to  judge  rightly  —  I 
mean  our  good,  sensible  friend,  Mary  Mildmay. 
Dear  Mr.  D'Arcy,  esteeming  and  respecting  you 
above  all  men  living,  as  I  do,  you  will  think  it 
strange,  when  I  tell  you  that  I  have  come  to  the 
conclusion,  seriously  and  advisedly,  that  I  can  never 
be  your  wife;  and,  believe  me,  this  resolution  is 
irrevocable.  As  a  favor,  I  implore  you  not  to  at- 
tempt to  change  my  determination.  It  would  be 


SHADOWS.  231 

utterly  fruitless.  "Would  you  know  my  reasons? 
They  are  many. 

When  you  honored  me,  by  asking  my  hand,  I 
was  a  mere  child.  I  am  now  a  woman,  and  must 
exert  the  prerogative  of  my  sex — that  of  choice — in 
a  matter  which  concerns  my  own  happiness,  and 
your  future  welfare.  Know,  then,  that  I  am  in- 
spired to  say  to  you,  that,  in  marrying  me,  you 
will  pass  by  your  destiny.  The  impression  is  so 
strong  that  I  cannot,  if  I  would,  shake  it  off;  but 
must  obey,  as  if  a  voice  from  heaven  had  spoken. 
Do  you  not  know,  too,  that  I  have  sworn  never  to 
forsake  my  beloved  mother  in  her  sorrow  and  her 
loneliness  ?  And  can  I  falsify  my  oath  ?  In  order 
to  remove  all  further  doubt  from  your  mind,  know, 
likewise,  that  it  is  not  to  me  that  you  owe  your  life. 
Poor  little  Ella  nursed  you  tenderly,  it  is  true, 
through  your  convalescence  ;  but  it  was  her  dear 
mother  who  recalled  you,  by  the  magnetism  of  her 
health-producing  touch,  from  the  trance  of  death ; 
and,  in  so  doing,  she  herself  nearly  perished.  If  I 
have  yet  another  reason  for  thus  writing — that  I 
must  ever  preserve  profoundly  secret. 

One  parting  favor  I  request :  let  this  make  no 
difference.  Come  to  us  as  before.  Be  still  a  friend — 
prove  thus  to  me  that  I  have  your  pardon — for- 


232  SHADOWS. 

give — forget.    Yes,  forget  all,  except  that  I  shall 
never  cease  to  pray  for  your  happiness,  and  that 
I  am,  as  ever, 

Your  affectionate  friend, 

ELLA. 

My  readers  may  readily  imagine  how  highly  I 
approved  my  young  friend's  dignified  and  womanly 
letter.  I  had  never  thought  them  suited  either  in 
years  or  in  tastes.  Ella,  lovely,  sweet,  innocent, 
intelligent,  was  yet  scarcely  the  companion  required 
by  a  man  of  D'Arcy's  intellect  and  superior  mind. 
Their  temperaments,  too,  Avere  similar,  each  being 
outwardly  cold,  reserved,  calm,  unimpulsive.  ]STow 
I  have  invariably  found  that  the  happiest  unions 
proceed  from  similarity  of  taste,  but  diversity  of 
temperament.  I  was  therefore  satisfied  as  to  the  wis- 
dom of  my  Ella's  decision.  We  had  now  been 
staying  about  a  fortnight  in  this  lovely  place,  wnere 
D'Arcy,  on  the  plea  of  very  pressing  business  at 
Washington,  had  excused  himself  from  escorting 
us.  He  had,  however,  sent  his  confidential  servant 
with  ns,  as  courier,  having  telegraphed  to  his  house- 
keeper to  have  all  in  readiness  on  our  arrival  at 
"  the  Retreat."  And  in  truth  the  house  was  fur- 
nished with  a  luxury  only  to  be  attained  by  the 
union  of  refined  taste  with  great  wealth  in  its 


SHADOWS.  233 

owner.  We  discerned  the  ever-presiding  hand  of 
affection  in  the  recently-arrived  harp  and  piano, 
and  in  the  works  of  modern  literature,  and  late 
numbers  of  periodicals  which  filled  the  shelves,  and 
encumbered  the  tables  of  the  sitting-rooms.  Some 
men  never  remember  anything — D'Arcy  had  that 
double  memory  of  heart  and  head  which  never  for- 
gets the  most  minute  arrangement  or  least  matured 
intention.  Poor  Evelyn,  humiliated,  heart-broken 
at  the  wicked  deception  which  had  been  practiced 
upon  her,  loathing  her  position  of  reputed  wife  to 
such  a  villain,  was  glad  to  hide  her  burning  sense 
of  shame  in  complete  solitude,  happy  even,  that 
D'Arcy,  in  respectful  sympathy,  delicately  kept 
aloof  for  a  time.  The  latter  had  not  yet  replied  to 
Ella's  letter,  but  in  about  ten  days  he  wrote  to  Eve- 
lyn a  few  lines,  expressing  the  fear  that  business 
might  detain  him  another  month  at  Washington, 
but  that  the  moment  he  could  hope  for  a  few  days' 
recreation,  he  would  visit  his  friends  at  "  The  Re- 
treat." He  hinted  a  fear  that  he  had  alarmed  her- 
self and  her  sweet  Ella,  and  asked  pardon  if  his  un- 
controllable indignation  had  caused  him  to  forget 
for  the  first  time  what  is  due  to  the  presence  of  la- 
dies. This  slight  allusion  was  the  only  one  he  made 
to  having  received  Ella's  letter  of  dismissal.  Strange 
Being,  and  unlike  all  others,  I  thought ! — 


234  SHADOWS. 

And  the  days  passed  onward,  and  Evelyn  was  made 
acquainted  by  her  daughter  that  her  engagement 
with  D'Arcy  was  at  an  end,  and  the  sad  mother  care- 
fully scrutinized  each  look  and  movement  of  her  child 
— for  with  the  exaggeration  of  love,  she  could  ill  be- 
lieve that  one  who  had  been  chosen  by  Philip  D'Arcy 
as  his  bride,  could  live  without  him,  and  be  hap- 
py. So  she  tenderly  watched  lest  the  delicate  rose 
should  fade  from  that  young  cheek,  lest  the  soft 
blue  eyes  should  look  dim,,  and  lack  their  wonted 
lustre.  It  did  strike  me  tfiat  the  young  girl's  step 
was  less  elastic,  and  that  she  more  frequently  than 
was  her  wont,  sought  the  solitude  of  her  chamber. 
But  I  persuaded  Evelyn  that  the  shock  experienced 
by  poor  Ella,  on  the  discovery  of  Sir  Percy's  per- 
fidious conduct,  and  her  sympathy  for  her  mother's 
now  blighted  life,  sufficiently  accounted  for  this 
apparent  change  in  her. 

And  now  the  glorious  Indian  Summer  pervades 
the  atmosphere  with  a  glowing  and  intense  heat,  the 
heavens  wear  a  deeper  tint  of  azure,  the  forests 
clothed  in  their  Autumn  foliage,  varying  from  the 
palest  shade  of  gold,  and  the  softest  green,  to  the 
richest  and  most  brilliant  scarlet,  and  the  deepest 
crimson,  remind  you  of  the  trees  in  the  fabled  gar- 
den of  Aladdin,  whose  branches  were  pendant  with 
the  weight  of  rubies,  emeralds,  topaz  and  other  pre- 


SHADOWS.  235 

cious  stones,  so  wonderfully  gorgeous  are  the  No- 
vember tints  of  the  North  American  forests,  so  un- 
like anything  ever  beheld  in  the  Old  World.  It 
seems  almost  as  if  nature,  prophetic  of  coming  decay, 
would  array  herself  for  the  last  time  in  her  gayest  and 
richest  attire,  and  like  Cleopatra  of  old  queen  it  even 
on  her  couch  of  death. 

And  as  one  fine  evening  we  sat  in  the  verandah, 
enjoying  the  fresh  breezes,  and  looking  on  the  deep 
and  rapid  Hudson,  we  observed  the  splendid  large 
steamer  stop  opposite  the  landing,  and  a  few  passen- 
gers enter  the  small  boat  which  rowed  towards  shore. 
Listlessly  we  watched,  soothed  by  the  quiet  beauty 
of  the  scene.  A  quarter  of  an  hour  may  possibly  have 
elapsed,  when  hearing  the  door  open,  we  turned  glad- 
ly to  perceive  and  joyfully  welcome  Philip  D'Arcy. 


CHAPTER     XXIX. 

FOEEQLEAM8. 

IT  is  evening  ;  the  air  is  soft  and  balmy,  the  gor- 
gous  sunset  flushes  the  mountain  tops,  and  falling 
on  the  gladsome  river  causes  it  to  glitter  like  mol- 
ten gold.  The  advancing  steamer,  heavy  with  its 
freight  of  human  hearts,  their  loves  and  their  cares, 
is  enveloped  in  a  glow  of  hazy  light ;  the  clear  mir- 
ror of  the  crystal  Hudson  reflects  the  blue,  un- 
clouded expanse  of  the  heavens.  The  acacias  gen- 
tly wave,  and  the  aspens  tenderly  quiver  in  the  lan- 
guid air.  A  moment,  and  the  amber  sun  sinks  be- 
low the  horizon,  and  white-robed  twilight  advances 
stealthily,  as  a  holy  nun  bearing  incense  ;  softly  she 
distils  with  fairy  fingers,  the  sparkling  dew-drops, 
and  the  water-lilies  close  their  waxen  petals,  and  the 
birds  fold  their  weary  wings,  all  but  the  nightingale, 
who  ever  maketh  melody.  Now  the  dragon-fly 
awakes,  and  the  glancing  fish  make  ripple  on  the 
water :  the  cricket  chirps,  and  the  glow-worm  and 


FOREGLEAM8.  237 

her  sister,  the  fire-fly,  prepare  their  tiny  lamps.  How 
blissful  a  calm  steals  over  the  senses ;  what  sweet 
peace  pervades  the  soul  attuned  to  the  harmonies  of 
nature.  On  such  a  night  as  this  did  Philip  D'Arcy 
and  Evelyn  wander  forth  in  the  clear  obscure,  their 
feet  sought  the  green  paths  where  the  cool  moss  grew 
beside  the  bubbling  streamlet,  and  the  night  flowers 
wept  beneath  the  silent  stars,  dreamily  they  saun- 
tered side  by  side,  their  souls  permeated  with  the 
placid  tenderness  of  that  soft  hour.  They  spoke  not, 
yet  Evelyn  felt  through  her  entire  being,  the 
passionate  gaze  of  those  deep  eyes,  and  the  delicious 
consciousness  that  she  was  beloved  glowed  on  her 
cheek  and  caused  her  eyelids  to  droop  in  timid 
emotion ;  they  spake  not,  for  they  dared  not  break 
the  ineffable  charm  of  that  mute  language.  Yet 
D'Arcy  must  leave  that  night,  and  he  had  much 
to  say,  and  Evelyn,  by  the  instinct  of  love, 
knew  that  he  had  much  to  say,  and  yet  they 
could  not  find  it  in  their  heart  to  break  the  spell, 
the  elysium  of  that  silent  hour.  But  Philip  must 
no  longer  keep  silence,  "Evelyn,"  he  murmured 
softly,  and  it  was  the  first  time  he  had  thus  named 
her,  "I  know  not  how  I  shall  support  absence 
from — from  my  friends — from  you." 

"  You  will  return,"  she  whispered. 

"  Return — ah !  if  God  spare  my  life  to  happiness 


FOBEGLEAMS. 

• — to  love.  Evelyn,  forgive — pardon,  my  mistake ; 
the  fatal  misapprehension,  not  of  my  heart — oh ! 
do  not  think  it ;  but  I  believed — I  feared  you  loved 
another." 

"  Never,  Philip  !  Oh !  I  know  it  now,  too  well !" 
Then  in  words  of  burning  eloquence,  he  poured 
forth  the  long  restrained  passion  ot  his  soul.  He 
told  how  that  she  was  the  one  love  of  his  life ;  ho\r 
that  all  past  feelings  were  cold  and  worthless  com 
pared  to  this;  how  his  very  being  was  entwined 
with  hers  ;  and  kneeling  at  her  feet  he  besought  her 
to  become  his  bride — his  own. 

Though  the  intense  joy  of  that  moment  was  al- 
most an  agony,  Evelyn  by  a  supreme  effort  mas- 
tering her  agitation,  besought  her  lover  to  rise,  then 
she  said,  sadly,  sorrowfully,  tearfully,  but  with  firm- 


"Too  late— too  late.     Philip,  this  can  never  be." 

"Never?  Oh,  God  !  Evelyn,  do  not  jest.  Can 
it  be  that  after  all,  I  am  indifferent  to  you  ?" 

She  turned  upon  him  a  look  of  such  fond,  such 
devoted,  such  adoring  love,  that  he  would  have 
caught  her  to  his  breast,  but  he  dared  not — so  timid, 
so  respectful,  is  true  love. 

"  Philip,  you  are  dear — dearer  to  me  than  exist- 
ence. From  the  first  moment  I  beheld  you,  you 


FOBEGLEAMS. 

have  been  the  star  of  my  destiny  ;  and  yet,  I  repeat, 
I  never,  never  can  be  yours." 

"  And  that  lip,  the  very  arch  of  Cupid's  bow — 
those  perfect  lips,  where  love  in  smiles  and  dimples 
holds  his  throne — can  they  frame  such  cruel  words. 
Sweetest,  this  is  no  time  for  coquetry." 

"  Ah  !  Philip,  speak  not  of  that  fatal  beauty  which 
has  ever  been  my  curse.  Hear  me  with  patience. 
Your  affection  to  me  is  beyond  all  price ;  but,  yet, 
far  more  do  I  prize  your  honor.  Never,  oh !  never, 
may  the  unwedded  wife  of  Sir  Percy  Montgomery 
become  the  bride  of  the  noble,  the  peerless  D'Arcy. 
The  world " 

"  What  of  that  ?"  broke  in  Philip. 

"  Nothing,  when  we  act  rightly  —  everything 
when  we  do  wrong.  Never  through  Evelyn  shall 
the  heartless  world  have  reason  to  cast  a  slur  on  the 
fair  fame  of  him  she  venerates  above  all  men ;  nev- 
er shall  it  be  said  that  his  name  is  no  longer  untar- 
nished. Philip,  the  mother  of  your  once  betrothed 
can  not,  must  not,  name  you  husband.  We  must, 
therefore,  part." 

"  Part,  Evelyn?  In  pity,  say  not  so !  My  life — 
my  love — my  bird  of  beauty — we  will  forsake  the 
haunts  of  men ;  together  will  we  fly  to  distant 
climes — there,  alone  in  the  wilds  of  a  yet  virgin  sol- 
itude, will  we  live  each  for  the  other  only,  and  earth 


24:0  FOKEGLEAM8. 

shall  become  for  us  a  second  Eden.     Say,  sweet 
one  I  shall  it  not  be  so  ?" 

For  one  moment  only  did  she  waver.  The  idea 
of  such  bliss  was  too  intoxicating — her  brain  reeled 
as  in  delirium.  The  temptation  to  give  up  all  for 
him  was  too  strong.  A  moment,  and  she  would 
have  sunk  upon  his  breast,  breathless,  fainting,  over- 
come— when,  suddenly,  she  seemed  to  behold,  over 
against  the  dark  sycamore  grove,  the  form  of  Ella — 
her  child — her  first-born — her  only  one — the  long 
fair  hair,  dank  and  uncurled,  floating  in  the  dewy 
night — the  sweet  young  face  pale  and  sad.  The 
semblance  vanished :  but,  once  more,  Evelyn  lis- 
tened to  her  better  angel.  Self  was  forgotten — the 
weakness  past — the  struggle  over.  Turning  on  her 
beloved  a  look  which  he  never  ceased  to  remem- 
ber— a  look  which  consoled  him  in  all  troubles,  and 
which  ever  inspired  him  to  noble  deeds,  because  in 
that  pure  glance  earthly  passion  had  given  place  to 
celestial  love,  she  said,  gently,  but  decisively,  and 
without  wavering — "  We  have  both  duties  to  per- 
form ;  you  will  serve  your  country — be  it  mine  to 
protect  my  child,  to  soothe  the  suffering,  to  console 
the  afflicted.  Ah  !  me — I  have  much  to  redeem  in 
the  past." 

"Cruel  and  unkind! — and  since  when  have  you 
thus  changed?" 


FOBEGLEAM8. 

"Since  I  have  known  YOU,  Philip.  All  that  is 
good  in  me  I  owe  to  you  alone — and  to  you,  next 
God,  I  look  for  strength  and  courage  to  persevere." 

"  And  so  help  me  Heaven,  you  shall  not  look  in 
vain !"  rejoined  her  lover,  now  restored  to  better 
feeling.  "  But  must  we  part  ?" 

"  Yes — more  than  ever  beloved — here  for  a  time, 
to  be  united  forever  ere  long,  when  made  '  perfect 
through  suffering,'  we  shall  be  found  worthy  to  at- 
tain to  the  joys  of  angelhood.  In  the  faith  of  this 
sweet  hope,  I  can  bear  to  part  on  earth  for  ever 
even  from  you." 

Evelyn's  eyes  beamed  with  an  almost  supernatu- 
ral radiance ;  and  as  the  moon,  bursting  from  forth 
a  cloud  that  had  momentarily  veiled  her  splendor, 
shone  full  upon  her  chiselled  features,  she  almost 
looked  a  denizen  of  that  world  to  which  she  aspired. 
But  the  light  of  inspiration  was  soon  quenched  in 
tears  of  pardonable  human  sorrow ;  and,  as  Philip 
strained  her  to  his  wildly-throbbing  heart,  their 
lips  met,  and  their  souls  blended  in  one  long,  long 
kiss — the  first— the  last — seal  of  their  union  for 
eternity.  Surely  the  angels  were  present,  and 
smiled  benignantly  on  their  pure  and  holy  espou- 
sals. 


CHAPTER   XXX. 

CONCLUSION. 

AND  Philip  has  departed,  and  Evelyn  is  alone 
with  the  sweet  memories  of  that  thrice  blessed  eve, 
alone  with  her  undying  love,  her  high  resolve.  No, 
not  alone,  for  ever  in  spirit  she  beholds  deep 
within  the  pure  and  liquid  wells  of  those  be- 
loved eyes,  the  fond  gaze  of  unutterable  tender- 
ness, for  ever  she  looks  beyond  this  weary  vale  of 
tears,  and  sees  in  faith,  the  golden  gates  unclose 
through  which  the  radiance  of  the  Divine  Sun 
streams  downward,  to  enlighten  the  fields  of  care. 

And  moons  have  waxed  and  waned,  and  her 
Philip  is  now  a  General  in  the  Federal  Army,  his 
name  on  every  lip,  his  praise  on  every  tongue.  And 
thus  it  must  ever  be.  Men  must  DO  great  and  heroic 
deeds — and  we  must  ENDURE  and  SUFFEK.  Which  is 
the  truer  heroism  ?  But  we,  too,  may  look  beyond, 
and  upward  to  the  ever  present  ONE  who,  if  during 
the  Divine  Humanity  of  His  earth  life,  He  had  occa- 


CONCLUSION.  243 

sion,  not  unfrequently,  to  rebuke  the  errors  and  fal- 
sities of  mankind,  was  ever  tender  and  compassion- 
ate to  the  faults  and  failings  of  woman. 

Oh !  my  sisters — "  Be  ye  also  merciful,  as  He  is 
merciful." 


THE          END 


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The  new  novel  by  the  popular  author  of  "  Rutledge,"  $1.501 

The  Habits  of  Good  Society. 

A  hand-book  for  ladies  and  gentlemen.   Best,  wittiest,  most  en 
tertaining  work  on  taste  and  good  manners  ever  printed,  $1.50 

The  Cloister  and  the  Hearth. 

A  magnificent  new  historical  novel,  by  Charles  Reade,  author 
of  "Peg  Woffington,"  etc.,  cloth,  $1.50,  paper  covers,   $1.25. 

Beulah. 
A  novel  of  remarkable  power,  by  Mist  A.  J.  Evans.     $1.50. 


A  LIST  Of  BOOKS  PUBLISHED 

A  r  to  in  us    Ward,  His  Book. 

The  racy  writings  of  this  humorous  author.  Illustrated,  $1.25. 

The  Old  Merchants  of  New  York. 

Entertaining  reminiscences  of  ancient  mercantile  New  York 
City,  by  "  Walter  Barrett,  clerk."     First  Series.    $1.50  each. 

Like  and  Unlike. 
Novel  by  A.  S.  Roe,  author  of  "I've  been  thinking,"  &c.$l  50. 

Orpheus  C.  Kerr  Papers. 
Second  series  of  letters  by  this  comic  military  authority.  $1.25. 

TOarlan  Grey. 
New  domestic  novel,  by  the  author  of  "  Lena  Rivers,"  etc.  $  1.50. 

Lena  River*. 
A  popular  American  novel,  by  Mrs.  Mary  J.  Holmes,  $1.50. 

A  Book  about  Doctors. 
An  entertaining  volume  about  the  medical  profession.     $1.50. 

The  Adventures  of  Verdant  Green. 
Humorous  novel  of  English  College  life.    Illustrated.     $1.25. 

The  Culprit  Fay. 
Joseph  Rodman  Drake's  faery  poem,  elegantly  printed,  50  cts. 

Doctor  Antonio. 
A  charming  love-tale  of  Italian  life,   by  G.  Ruffini,  $1.50. 

Lavluia. 
A  new  love-story,  by  the  author  of  "  Doctor  Antonio,"  $1.50. 

Dear  experience. 
An  amusing  Parisian  novel,  by  author  "  Doctor  Antonio,"  $1.00. 

The  Life  of  Alexander  Von  Humboldt. 
A  new  and  popular  biography  of  this  savant,  including  his 
travels  and  labors,  with  introduction  by  Bayard  Taylor,  $1.50. 

Love  (L'Amour.) 
A  remarkable  volume,  from  the  French  of  Michelet.     $1.25. 

Woman  (La  Femme.) 
A  continuation  of  "  Love  (L'Amour),"  by  same  author,  $1.25, 

The  Sea  (La  Mer.) 
New  work  by  Michelet,  author  "  Love"  and  "  Woman,"  $1.25. 

The  Moral  History  of  Woman. 
Companion  to  Michelet*s  "  L'Amour,"  from  the  French,  $1.25 , 

mother  Goose  for  Grown  Folks. 
Humorous  and  satirical  rhymes  for  grown  people,     75  cts. 

The  Kelly's  and  the  O'Kclly's. 
Novel  by  Anthony  Trollope,  author  of"  Doctor  Thorne,"  $1.50. 


BY  CARLETON,  NEW  YORK 


The  Great  Tribulation. 

Or,  Things  coming  on  the  earth,  by  Rev.  John  Gumming,  D.D., 
author  "Apocalyptic  Sketches,"  etc.,  two  series,  each     $1.00. 

Tbe  Great  Preparation. 

Or,  Redemption  draweth  nigh,  by  Rev.  John  Gumming,  D.D., 
author  "The  Great  Tribulation,"  etc.,  two  series,  each  $1.00. 

The  Great  Consummation. 
Sequel  "  Great  Tribulation,"  Dr.  Gumming,  two  series,  $1.00. 

Teach  us  to  Pray. 
A  new  work  on  The  Lord's  Prayer,  by  Dr.  Gumming,  $  ]  .00. 

The  Slave  Power. 
By  Jas.  E.  Cairnes,  of  Dublin  University,  Lond.  ed.       $1.25. 

Game  Fish  of  the  North. 
A  sporting  work  for  Northern  States  and  Canada.  Illus.,  $1.50. 

Drifting  About. 
By  Stephen  C.  Massett  ("Jeemes  Pipes"),  illustrated,      $1.25 

The  Flying  Dutchman. 
A  humorous  Poem  by  John  G.  Saxe,  with  illustrations,  50  cts. 

Notes  on  Shakspeare. 
By  Jas.  H.  Hackett,  the  American  Comedian  (portrait),  $1.50. 

The  Spirit  of  Hebrew  Poetry. 
By  Isaac  Taylor,  author  "  History  of  Enthusiasm,"  etc.,  $2.00. 

A  Life  of  Hugh  miller. 
Author  of  "  Testimony  of  the  Rocks,"  &c.,  new  edition,  $1.50. 

A  Woman's  Thoughts  about  Women. 
By  Miss  Dinah  Mulock,  author  of  "  John  Halifax,"  etc.,  $1.00. 

Curiosities  of  Natural  History. 
An  entertaining  vol.,  by  F.  T.  Buckland  ;  two  series,  each  $1.25. 

The  Partisan  Leader. 
Beverley  Tucker's  notorious  Southern  Disunion  novel,    $1.25. 

Cesar  BIrottean. 
First  of  a  series  of  Honore  de  Balzac's  best  French  novels,  $1.00. 

Petty  Annoyances  of  Married  Life. 
The  second  of  the  series  of  Balzac's  best  French  novels,  $1.00. 

The  Alchemist. 
The  third  of  the  series  of  the  best  of  Balzac's  novels,      $1.00. 

Eugenie  Grandet. 
The  fourth  of  the  series  of  Balzac's  best  French  novels,  $1.00. 

The  National  School  for  the  Soldier. 
Elementary  work  for  the  soldier ;  by  Capt.  Van  Ness,  50  cts, 


•  LIST  OF  BOOKS  PUBLISHED 

Tom  Tiddler's  Ground. 

Charles  Dickens's  new  Christmas  Story,  paper  cover,      25  cti 

National  Hymn*. 
An  essay  by  Richard  Grant  White.     8vo.  embellished,  $1.00. 

George  Brtmley. 
Literary  Essays  reprinted  from  the  British  Quarterlies,    $1.2? 

Thomas  Bailey  Aldrtch. 
First  complete  collection  of  Poems,  blue  and  gold  binding,  $1.00. 

Out  of  His  Head. 
A  strange  and  eccentric  romance  by  T.  B.  Aldrich,       $1.00. 

The  Course  of  True  Love 
Never  did  run  smooth.    A  Poem  by  Thomas  B.  Aldrich,  50  cts. 

Poems  of  a  "Fear. 
By  Thomas  B.  Aldrich,  author  of"  Babie  Bell,"  &c.,     75  cts. 

The  King's  Bell. 
A  Mediaeval  Legend  in  verse,  by  R.  H.  Stoddard,         75  cts. 

The  Morgesons. 
A  clever  novel  of  American  Life,  by  Mrs.  R.  H.  Stoddard,  $1.00. 

Beatrice  Ceiici. 
An  historical  novel  by  F.  D.  Guerrazzi,  from  the  Italian,  $1.50. 

Isabella  Orslnl. 
An  historical  novel  by  the  author  of  "Beatrice  Cenci,"  $1.25. 

A  Popular  Treatise  on  Deafness. 
For  individuals  and  families,  by  E.  B.  Lighthill,  M.D.,   $1.00. 

Oriental  Harems  and  Scenery. 
A  gossipy  work,  translated  from  the  French  of  Belgiojoso,  $1.25. 

Lola  Montez. 
Her  lectures  and  autobiography,  with  a  steel  portrait,     $1.25. 

John  Doe  and  Richard  Boe. 
A  novel  of  New  York  city  life,  by  Edward  S.  Gould,    $1.00. 

Doestlcks'  Letters. 
The  original  letters  of  this  great  humorist,  illustrated,     $i.co, 

Pln-rl-bus-tah. 
A  comic  history  of  America,  by  "Doesticks,"  illus.,       $1.50. 

The  Elephant  Clnb. 
A  humorous  description  of  club-life,  by  "Doesticks,"     $1.50. 

Vernon  Grove. 
A  novel  by  Mrs.  Caroline  H.  Glover,  Charleston,  S.  C.,  $1.00. 

The  Book  of  Chess  Literature. 
A  complete  Encyclopedia  of  this  subject,  byD.  W.  Fiske,$i.5<x 


BY  CARLET02T,  NEW  YORK. 


Tactics. 

Or,  Cupid  in  Shoulder-straps.     A  West  Point  love  story,  $  i  .00. 

Spree*  and  Splashes. 
A  volume  of  humorous  sketches,  by  Henry  Morford,     $1.00. 

Around  the  Pyramids. 
A  new  book  of  adventure  and  travel,  by  Aaron  Ward,  $1.25. 

Garret  Van  Horn. 
Or,  The  Beggar  on  Horseback,  by  John  S.  Sauzade,      $1.25. 

Alflo  Balzani. 
Or,  The  Diary  of  a  Proscribed  Sicilian,  by  D.  Minnelli,  $1.25. 

China  and  the  Chinese. 
Being  recent  personal  reminiscences,  by  W.  L.  G.  Smith,  $1.25. 

Transition. 
A  Memoir  of  Emma  Whiting,  by  Rev.  H.  S.  Carpenter,  $1.00. 

Lnlu. 
A  novel  of  Life  in  Washington,  by  M.  T.  Walworth,     $1.25. 

Lyrics  and  Idyls. 
"  Diamond  Wedding,"  and  other  poems,  by  E.  C.  Stedman,  7  5  cts. 

The  Prince's  Ball. 
A  humorous  poem  by  Edmund  C.  Stedman,  illustrated,  50  cts. 

Gen.  Nathaniel  Lyoii. 
The  life  and  political  writings  of  the  late  patriot  soldier,  $1.00. 

Twenty  fears  around  the  World. 

Volume  of  travel,  by  John  Guy  Vassar,  Poughkeepsie,   $2.50. 

Philip  Tliaxter. 

A  new  novel,  with  scenes  in  California,  one  vol.  I2mo.,  $1.00. 

From  Haylime  to  Hopping. 
A  novel  by  the  author  of  "  Our  Farm  of  Four  Acres,"  $1.00. 

Fast  Day  Sermons. 
Of  1861,  the  best  Sermons  by  the  prominent  Divines,    $1.25. 

Debt  and  Grace. 
The  Doctrine  of  a  Future  Life,  by  Rev.  C.  F.  Hudson,  $1.25. 

Fort  Lafayette. 
A  novel,  by  the  Hon.  Benjamin  Wood,  of  New  York,  $1.00. 

Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  man* 
A  capital  novel  from  the  French  of  Octave  Feuillet,         $1.00. 

Sarah  Gould. 
Volume  of  miscellaneous  poems,  bound  in  blue  and  gold,  75  cts. 

The  Monitor. 
A  new  book  of  travel,  by  Wm.  Hoffman,  illustrated,      $1.50. 


8  LIST  OF  BOO KS  PUBLISHED 

England  In  Rhyme. 

A  pleasant  method  for  instructing  children  in  History,  50  cts. 

Brown's  Carpenter's  Assistant. 

A  practical  work  on  architecture,  with  plans,  large  410.,  $5.00. 
Sybelle 

And  other  miscellaneous  poems,  by  L ,  1 2mo.,  cloth,  75  cts 

Wa-Wa- Wanda . 
A  legend  of  old  Orange  County,  New  York,  in  verse,    75  cts. 

Husband  vs.  Wife. 

A  satirical  poem,  by  Henry  Clapp,  Jr.,  illus.  by  Hoppin,  60  cts. 

llou  mania. 

Travels  in  Eastern  Europe,  by  J.  O.  Noyes,  illustrated,  $1.50. 

The  Christmas  Tree. 

A  volume  of  miscellany  for  the  young,  with  illustrations,  75  ct». 
The  Captive  Nightingale. 

A  charming  little  book  for  children,  many  illustrations,  75  cts. 

Sunshine  through  the  Clouds. 

Comprising  stories  for  juveniles,  beautifully  illustrated,  75  cts. 

Cosmogony, 
Or,  the  mysteries  of  creation,  by  Thomas  A.  Davies,      $1.50. 

An  Answer  to  Hugh  miller 
And  other  kindred  geologists,  by  Thomas  A.  Davies,      $1.25. 

Walter  Ash  wood. 
A  novel  by  "Paul  Siogvolk,"  author  of  "  Schediasms,"   $1.00. 

Sonthwpld. 
A  new  society  novel  by  Mrs.  Lillie  Devereuz  Umsted,  $1.00. 

Ballads  of  the  War. 
A  collection  of  poems  for  1861,  by  George  W.  Hewes,  75  cts. 

Hartley  Norman. 
Anew  and  striking  American  novel;  one  large  I2mo.,  $1.25. 

The  Vagabond. 
Sketches  on  literature,  art,  and  society,  by  Adam  Badeau,  $1.00 

Edgar  Poe  and  His  Critics. 
A  literary  critique  by  Mrs.  Sarah  Helen  Whitman,         75  ctt. 

The  New  and  the  Old. 
Sketches  in  California  and  India,  by  Dr.  J.  W.  Palmer,  $1.25 

Up  and  Down  the  Irrawaddl. 
Adventures  in  the  Burman  Empire,  by  J.  W.  Palmer,     $1.00. 

Miles  Standlsh  Illustrated. 
With  photographs,  by  J.  W.  Ehninger,  elegant  410.,       $6.00. 


